Revelation
by innocent-vessel
Summary: Companion Piece to Dark Matter "The way her hips curved and the way her waist narrowed, and the graceful line of where her neck met shoulders in a strong arc, somehow hit him like dynamite, throwing his balance somewhere off to the left."
1. What You Need (Is a Conflagration)

Bruce was a man of simple tastes, at the root of it. He didn't need much in the way of creature comforts. Spartan and basic was best. Things and needs and friends were ties and chains. He didn't much like to be chained.

Out here, in the wide expanses and clean air of the arctic tundra, he should have been at peace. Instead, he found himself as restless as he could remember.

It was solitary, his work. Breaking down and peering into the building blocks of the fields of the earth, out here in the clear where humanity didn't dull the edges. He knew that this assignment was SHIELD's way of giving him an escape, sending him out into the wild before he ran there.

But something had fundamentally altered in him, since that last summer when the sky opened up and the world changed. There were things and needs and friends that didn't feel like ties or chains, but instead felt like anchors and safe harbors. And so a few months in the tundra of quiet and focus and data sets that refused to resolve were beginning to grate. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he missed something. Something that felt a little bit like home.

So he spent his days waiting, the quiet focus and routine of his work no longer consuming him as each day seemed to take him farther and farther away from any real progress. And he spent his nights dreaming, longing for something that he couldn't quite place and was always just somewhere out of reach.

In the natural way of things, his last days felt as long as all the months of solitude combined. He sat out front of the small shelter that housed his equipment, breath fogging in the morning air as he looked out over the river.

It made him feel lighter, this time. The whip of the helicopter and the flurry of action bringing him back from nowhere to the bright lights and fast pace of the city.

He had people there now.

It didn't take away from the fear that had become a part of his life, and the need for iron control. That would always be a part of him, something that shaped and defined him, like a chisel through stone. But somewhere along the line he had learned that under control didn't necessarily mean loneliness and dangerous didn't all the time mean worthless.

It was amazing, when he stopped to think about it, the clean morning air rushing past him as he ran, that after only twenty four hours of civilization, he felt as if he had never left. The subtlety and power of habit and the human mind that could exert an influence over even the monster that he carried within him. His spare and open home waiting for him as if he had never left. Familiar faces in the halls who were genuinely happy to see him. Real work, purposeful and important, ready to be tackled and challenged and overcome.

This. The routine and comfort of his regular running path, of people who needed the man and not the monster, of a _life _ready and waiting for him to live it, was somehow more centering than all the empty space in the world.

Maybe it was that easy feeling, or the rushing endorphins of pushing himself farther than he had in a while, or the comfort and anticipation of returning to his lab space, where Jane would offer him breakfast pastries (which he would accept) and coffee (which he never did) and his scattered lab space, eccentric organization in piles of scientific flights of fancy, would remain untouched, waiting for him.

It was something though, because Bruce hadn't looked sideways at a woman since Betty had ripped his heart in half and kept the ruined pieces.

But there was a woman on the path, coming towards him, eyes fixed forwards and a million miles away. She was petite, shorter than him at least; but the way her hips curved and the way her waist narrowed, and the graceful line of where her neck met shoulders in a strong arc, somehow hit him like dynamite, throwing his balance somewhere off to the left.

She smiled and raised a hand to him, something normal, habit even. A reflex of polite society that Bruce had lost touch with almost entirely. He managed a halfhearted smile in response, the conscious mind dragging slowly behind the chemical rush, before she breezed past him, long hair bouncing with her stride.

He was too honest with himself not to admit that his eyes followed her, the way her lean and tight muscles bunched and shifted as she ran. Something loose and easy about her style, as if all the tension she ever carried was being sucked into the dirt beneath her feet.

She was beautiful, was the bottom line that worked its way through his distracted thought process.

And so perfectly removed from him.

He had still not regained his equilibrium when he made it into the lab. What he found there did not help him. His lab bench was clean. His beautifully chaotic system, which Jane had tried to express as a fractal pattern at one point with moderate success, was completely cleared away.

"Welcome home Bruce," Jane didn't even look up from her work, and it made Bruce remember why he had been _happy_ to come back here.

"The lab…" he trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

"Darcy," said Jane, pausing. "She's…well she's here. She put things in order."

"Darcy?" the name was familiar to him for some reason.

"My assistant from New Mexico." Jane put down what she was doing and came over to his lab bench, refilling her coffee on the way.

"What's she doing here?" asked Bruce, mildly irritated, "and what did she do to my lab bench?"

"You know," Jane sipped her coffee pensively, "that is almost exactly what I said the first week she was working for me." Bruce was fairly attuned to Jane's moods after working with her for over a year now, and she seemed…sad somehow.

"And now?" he prompted, starting to sort through the neatly labeled folders in a filing cabinet that had somehow appeared.

"She's…" Jane's voice seemed heavy, weighed down as she paused. "Darcy was always this incredibly strong link to the outside world. It can get…lonely, and strange; the world of research I mean."

Bruce nodded with a wry grin, he knew the feeling.

"She's incredibly smart," Jane continued, "even though she'd never let you know if she could help it. She's practical, she thinks quickly and sees the big picture and if you tell her why she's doing it, will do the most detailed, repetitive work for as long as you need it. And," Jane broke off, swallowing what sounded like a sob.

"Jane." Bruce looked over at her in concern, taking a step towards her. This wasn't exactly his forte, especially since he had no idea what had prompted this. He thought about calling Thor, and then reminded himself about what Tony had said. Something about never knowing if he could handle situations if he kept walking away from them.

Tony may not have been as eloquent, but somewhere along the line Bruce had come to trust his advice, to an extent at least.

"What's wrong?"

"This is all my fault," Jane looked miserable and embarrassed as she swiped at her eyes. "Darcy being here, getting dragged back into this, what she went through. I ruined everything for her."

"What happened?" Bruce asked carefully, gingerly wading into Someone Else's Problems like a skittish colt.

"There's a new big bad," said Jane, perching on his (now clean) lab bench. "He took her. He took her for something she knew about the bi-frost. Because of me. Bruce…" she paused, looking sick and pale, "they tortured her. Had her for three days."

"Jane," he reached out to her, in a way that he never really did. But he knew something about guilt; intimate and dark and terrible, the things that you couldn't wish away. "I know this doesn't help, but you can't hold all the evil in the world in yourself. Some of it has to belong to others."

She paused for a moment, parsing this out. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together, him and Jane Foster. She would wait and process and consider the variables when she needed to. Tony was challenging and motivating, and occasionally very irritating, and a friend. Jane foster was a partner. And if she needed him for support, even if it wasn't scientific, he would help her parse the variables and move through.

"I know." She let out a breath, "and Darcy…she's so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for. I was scared for a while, we all were. But she is okay. I know she's okay. It's just…this is selfish. But she was this one little piece of normal in my whole world. We argued about who ate the last of the cereal and who's taste in music was worse. And now she's being hunted by a madman and has just accepted a job with SHIELD." Jane sighed, a damp sad little sound.

"I know what you mean," said Bruce, thinking of the girl on the trail, and how easy and free she looked. And how _normal_ it was to just smile, friendly and open, to a stranger on the path. How _normal_ it was to see a beautiful girl and _notice_.

Jane smiled a little grateful smile at him, hopping to her feet. "I'm being maudlin, and part of me is happy to have her around again. It just hits me at odd times you know, the craziness and horror, really, of the life we lead."

And Bruce could only smile. It had been so long since he was part of any kind of 'we'.

Slowly, as the day wore on, he began to recapture his sense of peace and homecoming. It turned out, as he sorted through, that Jane's Darcy might be slightly more efficient at organizing a lab than he was. It was an odd feeling. This girl, who he knew almost nothing about, clearly knew something about him.

She was smart, that much was readily apparent. Anyone who could so effectively collate and categorize his projects had to be. When Jane indicated that she studied political science, his initial assessment of her rose. A political scientist who could look at a hastily scribbled series of equations on a napkin and correctly identify not only what they meant but which project they were related to was quite a feat.

More than that, there were labels like "The stuff about string theory that you like to write about either really late at night or when you're drinking" and "The project you're not supposed to know about but are working on anyways." It was almost frightening, really. The way she could piece him together from words written on scraps of paper and articles stained with tea and failed titrations.

He went to visit Tony later that day. Not that Tony was going to restore his sense of balance. It was more that Tony made him feel like being off balance was okay, and even better sometimes.

"Hey big man!" Tony looked up enthusiastically and immediately when Bruce found him in his garage in the basement of Stark tower, rolling out from under a car with lines more beautiful than most women.

Not, Bruce thought against his will, anything in comparison to the girl from the trails.

Tony immediately and without reservation strode up to Bruce and tossed his arms around the other man, slapping him on the back in a fierce embrace. "Missed ya buddy, Pep doesn't let me have as much fun when you're not around."

Bruce grinned and adjusted his glasses as Tony stepped back. "Maybe I should visit the tundra more often then. It would probably lead to fewer explosions."

"We do have a habit of that don't we," said Tony in a fond and nostalgic tone. "So how was your first day back?" Tony asked as he tossed Bruce a beer from the ubiquitous beer fridge before pulling one out for himself. "Missing the wide open spaces?"

And Bruce liked the way Tony had never asked him if he was okay to have a drink, or if it would be too hard for his control. Because Tony knew that if Bruce was on edge, he would refuse. And Bruce knew that if he was firm, Tony would relent. And because their friendship was such a well known quantity now, Bruce enjoyed a beer in the garage with his buddy like the rest of men.

"I'm not really," he said frankly, "Nothing ever explodes up there. It got monotonous."

Tony grinned widely at him. "Finally admitting that we're worth keeping around, are ya?'

"I suppose I am," said Bruce, without reservation.

"So, psychological breakthrough in the desolate wilderness? You _found_ yourself? Or is this about a girl?" Tony prodded him with the neck of his bottle.

"Those are my only two options?" he queried lightly. Because he had _missed_ this. Normalcy, or the Tony Stark version thereof.

Tony just raised an eyebrow at him.

'Well, the former I suppose," he raised his glass to Tony in a salute both teasing and sincere, "I missed home."

The look Tony gave him as they toasted was as close to sincere as anyone beyond Pepper ever saw, Bruce thought. And because he was enamored with this idea of normalcy, he said.

"Although I did see a really beautiful girl out running this morning."

"Bruce!" Tony exclaimed, "Noticing the opposite sex? Are you possessed? A shape shifting Alien? Or did the arctic wilderness just make you really lonely?"

"Maybe," said Bruce with a comfortable smile, "she was just _really_ beautiful."

He was almost disappointed, the next morning, not to see her. No, if he was being honest, there was no _almost _about it. There was something so simple and easy about a girl on the track. So uncomplicated.

So when she was there, after he had finished, breathing hard and wiping sweat from his face after his run, his focus was drawn immediately.

He saw her fall, and it was like gravity pulling him into her. It wasn't an issue, not really. She wasn't hurt. And yet he couldn't stop himself. He helped her up, he made an ass of himself, he reached out to touch her.

And when she invited him to meet her the next day, it never occurred to him that he wouldn't go.

It was awkward, he admitted to himself.

He had never, ever, had a male friend who he would even consider going to for advice about women. And the last time he had needed advice about a girl, he hadn't had problems greater than any other unfashionable and awkward physicist, which were enough in and of themselves.

But every morning for a week she had been drilling her way into his subconscious.

It wasn't just that she was beautiful, even though that was certainly part of it. And he would admit, although never out loud, that the way her skin moved under the lycra of her shorts when she stretched didn't exactly detract from her appeal.

It was about how she reached out to swat him on the arm without a second thought, how she teased him in a way that made Bruce think that maybe she was _flirting_. How when she mentioned a movie, mostly Bruce knew it and liked it. How she would drop her earbuds around her shoulders and crank the volume so he could hear her favorite song as they ran in step up the hill. This thing they were doing together, this friendship thing, where he was just a man and she was just a woman, it was something he had never done before. It was someone he had never _been_ before.

It was something that would vanish if she knew who he really was.

It was starting to tear him apart.

Although, looking at the positive end of the spectrum, when he called Tony, asking him if he could spare some time, Tony had dropped whatever it was he was doing (potentially literally from the sound over the connection) and said he would meet him in 20 minutes. It was good to say the word _friend_ about him and know that it really meant something.

They sat over scotch that was so expensive that Bruce didn't even want to consider it, in a very discrete corner of a very discrete club. Bruce was sure they would not have let him in if not for Tony.

"So," said Tony, taking a healthy sip of his drink, "You're getting melancholy over something, you might as well just come out with it and get it over with. Who knows how long my sympathy will last."

"Well," said Bruce slowly, "There's this girl."

The delight on Tony's face floated his mood up a few meters.

"You are coming to me for girl advice?" he asks, incredulous.

"Yes." He spoke directly to his glass.

"I feel like I should send out a press release, or at least text pepper." Tony was gleeful.

"I would prefer," said Bruce dryly, "If we could keep this private. I hear that is the code."

"The Bro code? Did Bruce Banner just bro code me? Dear diary…"

"Tony," he couldn't decide whether to be amused or exasperated, but that was par for the course, he supposed.

"Right, there's a girl. Is it the first girl I have ever heard you call beautiful who you saw on the trails?"

"Yes," glad he didn't need to spin a story. "We've been running together."

"And you need my advice because?"

"She doesn't know who I am."

"Well she must have at least noticed that you run behind her. Bruce, are you stalking her?"

"What? No! Of course not. We just, we haven't exchanged names. She doesn't know about…"

"The other guy?" it was a surprisingly sensitively made point for Tony.

"Yeah."

"Well," said Tony, stoking his beard in a way that Bruce was sure the other man though was sage, "Who says you need to tell her right away?"

Bruce sent him a savage glare, "I'm not going to _lie_ to her Tony."

"Hey, that's not what I'm suggesting" he raised his hands defensively. "I'm not saying the other guy doesn't complicate things. I'm just saying, don't you think it's worth letting the girl know who she'd be taking on those complications for? And, in point of fact, there is no rule saying you need to make a play for her. Why would she ever need to know about Mr. Hyde if all you want is some friendly motivation for that morning run?"

Bruce rolled this idea over slowly in his head. He supposed that there was no reason that he needed to get to know her better, to try to make her anything more than a woman who he ran with. A woman who was beautiful in a way that made his heart stutter in his chest and was so easy in her manner that he sometimes forgot to be careful. Something about that didn't sit well with him.

But he also wasn't ready to say he was _interested_ in a real way. Not even to Tony. Not even to himself.

It turned out, despite Tony's support, that the issue was moot. On Monday morning, Bruce's distractingly beautiful running partner walked into his lab, and the world changed again.

After she stormed out, there was a long silence.

_She_. _Her_.

Bruce's head was spinning in an endless loop.

"So," said Jane cautiously, "anything you wanted to tell me Bruce?" Her arms were crossed and her expression stern. He remembered that the first thing they had spoken of after he had been away for six months was _Her_. He remembered that little break in her voice when she had told him about what had happened to her. To _Her_. He remembered what had happened.

"I," he paused. At a bit of a loss, regret and guilt sitting low in his gut hovering somewhere near the edges of his control. "No," he said finally. "I don't think there is."

It didn't surprise him that Jane had nothing to say to him either for the rest of the day.

It wasn't hard, when you knew Tony Stark (or more accurately his AI) to get files he shouldn't be able to get. He didn't often abuse the privileges that came with being a member of the Avengers, but there was no way he could stop himself.

He wished he had.

When the computerized file on "Lewis, Darcy" lay projected in front of him against the windows of his office at home, the blue light shining out into the woods, he didn't know whether to run for containment or the bathroom.

Her medical file showed close and detailed photos of exactly what had been done to her. Cold, clinical notes and chart readings hitting him like a slap in the face.

He swiftly swiped at the file, closing it. He shouldn't have looked. She wouldn't have wanted him to see. He remembered that first time, when he had reached out and laid a hand against her scars, not knowing what they were at the time. She thought they made her weak, an object of pity. But he could see how strong she was.

He didn't so much regret knowing what had happened to her. But it was harder to pretend she was just a beautiful girl, just a slice of normal, when he could feel his heart pulling out of his chest for her.

It was a physical pain, shivering and tugging somewhere just behind his temples, that he fought as she approached him the next morning. Darcy, he corrected himself. She was no longer _her_, she was Darcy. Darcy who went from being someone with whom he could pretend to be average to someone who _knew_. Someone who would fear, someone who had every right to be afraid, and more than most.

But avoidance, a long tested strategy for him, wouldn't work here. She was present in his circle, invading his calm, firmly installed in this place he called home. A thought both beautiful and terrible at the same time.

And he couldn't help but let that little flicker of home and hope sit low in him. Maybe she. Maybe her.

Which is why it hit so hard when she was like all the rest, coming at him with accusation and fear. He could feel a well of anger pushing up inside of him as she advanced on him, hurling at him the accusations he had been throwing at himself before.

He shouldn't have pushed back, he knew that. But he was _angry._

Even though he felt guilty, knew that the other guy was something to be feared, something to be careful of, he wanted so much more out of her. He wanted the extraordinary. So even worse than the low pull of anger, well in hand, was a sharp stab of disappointment.

She was afraid, and her fear cut at him like a knife. She had had enough of it in her life, he now knew. And he wanted to understand her reaction, wanted to accept it with peace. But, as she had so viscerally reminded him, sometimes he was just a man. A far from perfect one. And even as he stepped back and pulled his mask of control together, a burning ember of resentment and disappointment and _sadness_, more than he should feel after knowing her a week, refused to be extinguished.

But he still felt that he owed something to her, the other her. The _her _before she was Darcy. So he explained to what remained of the closest approximation to an uncomplicated woman that he had ever know, what it had meant to him. Because maybe it had meant that to the uncomplicated part of her. But she didn't stop him when he walked away. And that little ember burned a little brighter.

He could tell, the moment he walked into the lab, that Jane knew exactly what was going on, and probably more about it than him. He froze at the look on her face as she stood up from her bench.

A Valkyrie, he thought. Sometimes it made so much sense to him how this tiny scientist commanded the heart of a god.

"Jane," he said, hands out in supplication, "I swear, I never meant for any of this."

"I know," she said. It didn't sound much like understanding, only acknowledgement. "But it did."

He sighed, bit by bit this concept of home starting to fall away. Like everything always did.

"I'll go." He said finally, "I'll find another space." He headed at once to his bench, decision made, following through.

"You don't like working with me?" It was a challenge, the question lying below the surface. He wondered how many people saw this side of her.

"Of course I like working with you," he said immediately. "It's just that," he considered his words carefully, "certain events this morning have convinced me that things will be…smoother if I am not around."

Jane cocked her head, looking at him for a long moment. "Don't go anywhere yet," she said firmly. "I'll be back." She swiped the last scone out of the tray near the door on her way.

It was no more than a half hour later that she returned. She walked up to the pile of papers Bruce had placed in a box on his bench, removed them, and placed them firmly on his work surface.

"Stay," she said with an expression that Bruce could have sworn was somewhat amused. "Work."

So he stayed, and he worked, until somewhere in the early afternoon, his muscles tensing before he had even properly seen her come in, Darcy walked into the lab.

It was endearing, he thought, the way she had clearly practiced. The fact that she thought he was worth apologizing to and the fact that she still wanted to be around him going a long way to stamp out that little ember of disappointment. Many women, many people, had feared him. No one, yet, had apologized for it. At least not so quickly, so clearly, and so honestly.

There was something so different about her. She thought, it seemed to him, that she was average. But what he now knew she had gone through, and the way people reached out and attached themselves to her, and the way she opened up her life and took them in without even realizing that this was something rare and beautiful and incredible. ..

She was so far from average.

"You know," he said later as they were companionably sorting papers, "Jane can really be a bit of a terror about you."

Darcy smiled at him, a little nervously, and that little ember flared at him, and said "She's a tiger, for sure. But you know I got the other end of the same stick, right?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"She came down pretty hard on me, in her own way, for being an idiot at you." It was a blunt admission, but delivered shyly, the fear and hurt feelings still lingering around them.

But Bruce cocked his head to the side with a little smile. "Huh," was all he said out loud. It didn't feel so bad to have a Valkyrie on his side some of the time.


	2. Watching the Parade

Later that night, Bruce was in the lab, checking on some tests he was running overnight, when a sharp knock came from the doorway. He looked up to see Clint leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a serious look on his face.

"Hi," said Bruce cautiously, brushing his hands off on his lab coat, "Looking for someone?"

"You, actually," said Clint, stalking over purposefully. There was something about the way he moved, him and Natasha both, a coiled tension ready to spring. Like a predator.

"I heard you met our Darcy," he said coldly. Bruce didn't miss the possessive pronoun. He didn't think he had been meant to miss it.

"Yeah," he said somewhat resignedly. He would feel surprised or slighted at the accusatory stare from someone who was supposed to be on _his_ team. But he had met Darcy. He wasn't surprised at all.

"You wanna explain yourself?" Clint challenged him.

Bruce reminded himself that the benefits of being on this team were greater than the drawbacks, at least most of the time.

"I was being selfish." He said candidly. "It was nice to have someone around who didn't always have the other guy in the back of their mind. If I had known who she was, what she had been through, I never would have let it happen."

"Taking advantage of a pretty girl? Doesn't really seem like your style Banner." He was really glad Clint looked to be unarmed.

"What? No, there was no advantage taken. We just run together." He looked at Clint evenly as the other man stared him down.

Apparently satisfied with what he found, he nodded once. "Alright," he paused for a moment. "I pulled her out of there, you know," he said.

Bruce nodded.

"Kid was a mess, but still giving me a hard time," there was a warmth in Clint's eyes that Bruce didn't see all that often. "She needs our protection. She needs to be safe here, got it?"

"Nothing I want more," said Bruce, a little more honestly than he intended.

"Good," the tension faded out of Clint's stance and he clapped Bruce on the shoulder. "Coming back to the tower? Tony wants me to test out some new tech of some kind. There will probably be a few beers involved."

"Sure," said Bruce bemusedly, gathering his things.

He wondered if Darcy had any idea of the way people were about her. The way he was about her.

He wondered if _he_ really had any idea of the way he was about her.

It turned out that there was a limit to the SHIELD files he could illegally access through Stark servers. So one morning, later in the week, when Darcy was safely out of the lab and buried in paper work, he headed for Maria Hill's office.

It wasn't about doubting SHIELDs abilities, or even about a need to protect her, at least not entirely. It was about the way his hands itched when he thought about the photos in her file, or the way she had pulled away from his hand on her scars. It was about wanting, _needing_, to do something about it, for reasons he wasn't quite ready to analyze.

"Dr. Banner," Maria stood to shake his hand as he sat across from her. "What can I do for you?"

"The General," he said abruptly. She raised an eyebrow at him. "I want to be involved in the search."

She looked at him appraisingly for a long moment. There wasn't much that got past Maria Hill and he knew she would be re-aligning her facts and making some assumptions about him. But it just didn't feel that important in the face of the simmering frustration he felt. The idea that this man was out there, operating, not suffering for his crimes.

"Alright," she said calmly after a moment, "frankly we can use all the help we can get, especially with the technical specs. I'll give you full access right away."

He let out a breath, "Thank you."

"Shall I put you on the meeting roster?" her stylus was poised over her data pad.

"No," he said quickly, "No I'd prefer to help in an unofficial capacity, if you don't mind."

Her eyebrow rose another notch, "Fine, just report to me if you come up with anything. I'll keep it off the logs."

"Good, that's good." He relaxed again. He knew perfectly well that Darcy would not take kindly to him jumping in on this. He knew she already chafed sometimes at the way she was watched and protected. He didn't know if he could adequately explain to her that that wasn't what he was doing. He didn't know if he could explain it to himself.

"And Bruce?" Maria gave him a steely look, "I know I don't have to tell you to be careful."

Her blunt insight was almost chilling at times.

"Of course," was all he said, with a slightly strained smile, as he retreated from her office.

It wasn't long before it was hard to remember a time when Darcy wasn't part of his circle.

It was difficult for him. He could feel the distance stretching out between the two of them, even as their lives moved closer.

On the one hand, the more he knew her, the more he wanted to reach out for her.

On the other, the more she knew him, but still wouldn't look him in the eye, wouldn't come too close or stay too long, the more that little ember of resentment and anger, and disappointment, not only in her but in the great unfairness of the universe, burnt a little hotter.

From the outside, he probably looked like one of her closest friends. They worked together every day, they ran together every morning. She knew what brand of tea he liked, when he needed to be prodded out of a singular focus on a problem, and when he needed to be left alone.

But he knew better.

He watched his team let down their guards around her, he watched her become close and necessary to their lives.

He watched the way Natasha looked out for her, in ways that Darcy probably didn't even see, didn't notice as extraordinary. The way the older woman's eyes followed her around the room, the way she glared at anyone who got too close, the way she oriented herself around Darcy whenever she was nearby.

He watched the way that Steve's shoulders relaxed when she put a hand on his arm, the way the Captain fell away around her. The way careful, logical Jane stopped processing when they spoke and just _was._

He watched Clint and the way he touched her, all the time, without thought, and so easily for a man usually strung as tight as his bow.

He watched that a lot, with a focus that surprised him.

He watched even the people on the edges of her circle vie to get closer.

It didn't occur to him to think that this was problematic until the moment that Darcy burst into the lab, hopped onto Jane's lab bench, and declared that one of the other analysts was trying to have sex with her.

It made his stomach jump into his throat with an alarming lurch.

He calmed himself, immediately slamming a tight lid down on his emotions, telling himself that she didn't seem to welcome it, nor was it any of his business if she did, as he tried to respond rationally.

Jane, he was quite certain, gave him a sideways look as she turned back to her bench and suggested that maybe Darcy should take the analyst up on his offer.

He filed that piece of information away and opened his mouth to suggest that Jane just go to lunch with her, but what came out was "Why don't you just come eat lunch with us."

The look in Jane's eyes, made him stop. He could see her, parsing, collating, looking at the data.

He didn't know exactly what she saw. So he parsed, and collated, and looked at the data. He wondered what Jane would say if she knew he was spending most evenings hard at work on the operation to find the General. And then that roiling pulling sensation that he knew was chemical but _felt_ like emotions decided for him.

"Tony,"

"Yeah," Tony's voice sounded a bit distant, there was an echo.

"Sorry, are you busy?"

"Never too busy for you," he said flippantly, his voice much clearer now, "just playing with some new toys. Wanna come see?"

"Maybe later," said Bruce, "I have a problem."

They sat on the balcony of Stark Tower, because Bruce hadn't wanted to be in public. He wasn't sure knowing that the living quarters of the Avengers and the source of his problem were just downstairs was helpful, but the air was mild and the view was unbeatable.

A glass of whisky sat in front of him, but Bruce didn't touch it. Tony had taken one look at his face and didn't say a word about it.

"Darcy?" he asked mildly, looking out over the city and leaning back in his chair.

Bruce tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "Yes."

"I swear, that kid is _everywhere_ these days." Tony said. It didn't sound like he minded much though.

"I need to…get her out of my head." He said. He could almost feel Tony's sharp gaze shift to him.

"Here's a crazy thought," said Tony, "why?"

"What?" Bruce opened his eyes and looked at Tony who looked…unsettlingly enthusiastic.

"Let's lay the facts on the table, shall we Doc?" he started, "Your whole tragic past and big green rage monster problem has pretty much had you blind to the fairer sex, right?"

Bruce nodded slowly.

"And now this knockout dame _just_ on the right side of scandalously young comes along. She knows about the other guy, still spends most of her days with you, has the rest of our weird super family wrapped around her little finger, and _laughs at your jokes_. Why would you want that girl out of your head? Sounds more like you'd like her wrapped around your…"

"Tony," Bruce interrupted in a warning voice.

"See! You won't even let me talk about her disrespectfully! And don't think I don't know about your overtime on this General hunt. You're clearly head over heels for the girl. I say go for it."

Bruce sighed. "It's not that simple."

"It never is," said Tony dismissively. "You just have to make it simple."

"She would never be interested." Said Bruce flatly, "How's that for simple."

"Bullshit," said Tony. "Try another one."

"She's afraid of the other guy, she's not comfortable around me."

"_You're_ not comfortable around you half the time Bruce, I bet if you'd stop clenching up around her it would do wonders."

"I'm _angry_ at her for not being comfortable around me." Tony had been dismissing his objections so rapidly that he spoke without thinking.

He was surprised at how _good_ it felt to say that out loud.

Tony looked at him like this had been his intention all along. It might have been. You could never really tell.

"And when you're angry, it makes you careful, and when you're careful it makes her nervous, and when she's nervous it makes you angry. How'm I doin'?"

"Surprisingly well," Bruce said with a wry smile. "Which still brings me back to how to get over this."

"How long has it been," said Tony, "since someone got deep enough into your life, had enough of a hook on you that they could twist you like that?"

"You know," said Bruce, picking up his glass with a considering look, "I really hate it when you're right." He took a sip, the sting of the liquor working through some of the tension buzzing in his head.

"No you don't." said Tony smugly.

After a moment.

"You said family." Said Bruce quietly.

"I did, didn't I?" Tony sounded almost surprised.

Another moment passed.

"So what do I do now?" he asked. This was incredibly uncertain ground.

"Hell if I know." Said Tony.

"What happened to your legendary experience with women?"

"Bruce, I've been in love just once. Took me years to realize it, and a few near death experiences to do anything about it."

"So basically, you've got nothing."

"I wouldn't say nothing," said Tony, "I've got a great view, really expensive scotch, and all the time in the world."

"Well," said Bruce, raising his glass to Tony. "It's not nothing."

"So I was wondering if you wanted to come over to the tower tonight."

Her voice, just behind his ear as they ran, cut through him like his first slow dance. Terrifying and thrilling all at the same time.

It was a split second rush of adrenaline. Had Tony said something to her? What did she mean 'come over', was this a date? Was he ready to go on a date? Especially with her? And if he went over just to hang out, what would Tony say? What would the team think?

His panicked thought process was pulled to a halt a moment later when she explained that the team was throwing a party for her.

It was good to watch her recovering. He was happy for her, in a way that was genuine and uncomplicated. He thought, somehow, that it was really important that he could feel uncomplicatedly happy for her, at least some of the time.

He also thought about how protective the team was of her, and how clear the distance they kept between them would be with all the team together.

It was never easy for him to relax around them all together anyways, not because he wasn't comfortable with them. In fact, partially because _they_ were so comfortable with _him_ that sometimes they forgot. It was awful when he had to remind them. He hated the way their faces changed, every time it happened.

There was also a part of him that was terrified of putting himself, Darcy, and Tony in a room together. He didn't doubt Tony's good intentions, even for a moment. His discretion? Bruce was not so sure.

This was something he wanted to handle himself. He was still mostly sure that getting over this _thing_, this _feeling_ for Darcy was best.

But the way she looked at him, and the way she was becoming just a little less careful around him every day, and the way he felt better when he was with her made it impossible to say no.

His suspicions about Tony's discretion were confirmed the moment he came into the lab and found a series of text messages waiting for him.

Apparently, someone had already told Tony.

His phone rang with almost clairvoyant timing.

"Bruce! Did you get the party memo?" Tony said without preamble.

Thankfully, Jane had on goggles and ear protectors as she drilled into a sample under a fume hood.

"Yes Tony, I got the memo." He said carefully.

"You're coming right? No way that you said no to Darce while she was wearing spandex."

"Yes, I'm coming," he pointedly ignored the second half of the statement, mostly because it was true. And that made Bruce feel a bit like a teenager. And he didn't exactly dislike the feeling.

"Excellent. So, we have to plan your move."

He sighed, "Tony, I am not going to make a move."

"Come on, how are you ever going to know what your chances are if you don't try _something_."

"Tony," he said, tension creeping into his voice, "I am in no position to try _something_ with anyone, let alone a girl at least a decade younger than me, who often treats me like live ordinance, and who has some completely legitimate but really serious issues."

"No fun Bruce, you are no fun."

"Look," he said "I know you want to help, and…I mean, there is _something_ there but…" he trailed off.

"It's never that simple, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"Well look, you at least want to keep that door open, right?" Tony tried gamely.

"Yeah, I suppose," Agreed Bruce warily.

"I've got an idea then. It's a little idea, harmless really."

He felt stupid. He felt stupid and he was late. He felt stupid and he was late and he was carrying a _nightcap_.

He watched the elevator tick away the floors, wondering why he ever listened to Tony at all.

When the elevator doors opened with a crisp chime, Darcy was standing right in front of them, arms crossed but a smile on her face.

"You're late," she challenged him.

"Yes." He said, "But I come bearing gifts." He held out the cap to her, steadfastly ignoring Tony's wink from across the room.

Darcy reached out for it questioningly, "You got me a nightcap?"

"Uh, yeah. I did," That stupid feeling again, "I thought, you know, it was worth commemorating."

And he couldn't help but grin in answer to her brilliant smile. "It kind of is, isn't it?" she said, carefully placing the cap on a side table. He supposed that it was okay to listen to Tony some of the time.

"Now come on doc, Steve needs a challenger in Mario cart."

It was good, being here. And Bruce felt himself relax, bit by bit. Sometimes he forgot that these people just wanted him to be himself. Didn't want him to consider every move, every word before it happened. Wanted him uncensored.

So even with his awareness pulled to Darcy, humming with her presence even when she wasn't near, he was also _present_. Relaxing enough to respond, to take part in the friendly jabs and conversation without thinking first.

He supposed that this is what led him to lose a sizable amount of money to Tony when he bet that Steve would beat Natasha in a video game that seemed to involve excellent hand eye co-ordination and quick reflexes. Apparently, long experience with modern interfaces could, in fact, outweigh the genetic modifications of super-serum.

But by the time he went home, leaving behind a group of people who didn't want to see him go, he couldn't regret the loss.

It was hard to resist Tony when he had something new and exciting to show off, and mostly Bruce didn't try any more. The scientist in him took just as much glee as Tony in making something work right.

So when Tony wanted him to come over and help him with some calibrations on his new suit, he didn't stop to think about it. It wasn't until Tony came out with "So the party the other night went pretty well, hey?" That he thought to question his motives.

"Yes Tony, I had a good time," he agreed complacently, just waiting for the other shoe drop.

"Darcy seemed to be quite happy to see you." There it was.

"Yeah," he said, focusing his attention to where he was carefully picking through a set of wires with needle nosed pliers, "we're friends. She was quite happy to see you as well."

"Well she didn't sit on the arm of _my_ chair."

"I believe you were sitting on the floor most of the evening."

"Oh come on Bruce, don't be difficult."

"Don't push me," Bruce shot back, but his tone was light.

"Look, all I'm saying is that the way you react to her or, you know, don't…it's going to make her think that you aren't attracted to her. And, you really are. If you want to keep the door open, it wouldn't hurt to let her know that sometimes you picture her naked."

"Tony," his tone was exasperated. Even though he had to admit Tony had a point, he seemed to enjoy making it in the most indelicate way possible.

"Oh come on, she's hot. I can say that can't I? Hell, pretty sure she'd be way more likely to believe that I was into her than you at this point."

"You can say that," said Bruce tightly, carefully stripping and splicing a wire, "but I wish you wouldn't."

"And why is that Bruce?" his voice was laced with mock surprise, "Why ever would you have a problem with another man talking about how incredibly hot Darcy looks in her workout clothes? Or the way she sometimes wears shirts that are just a _little_ bit low cut, or that black skirt that she has…"

"Okay!" Bruce cut him off, half amused, half frustrated, and a little bit turned on. "I don't like it because I find her attractive and don't like other people talking about her that way, happy?"

"Very," said Tony triumphantly, turning back to his schematic display.

"You know," he continued after a moment, "It's not like you're attaching a ball and chain just by letting a girl know that sometimes you think about her in a less than friendly way."

"I know Tony." At this point it was clear that Tony wasn't going to let this go, so it was easier just to humor him.

"All I'm saying is that if you want to stay on her radar, it'd do you some good to turn your filter off every once in a while."

"My filter?"

"I've been observing," said Tony with a grin, "Half of the time you start to say anything to her, or about her, or in her vicinity, you stop yourself."

Bruce didn't even try to deny it.

"It's no way to live." Tony concluded firmly.

And, after Bruce thought about it for a moment, he supposed Tony had a point.

It was better, with the team, when he felt okay about letting them know when he was irritated, or angry, or frustrated, or confused. It was better when he didn't have to shove a lid down on all of his natural reactions for the sake of other people's sense of security.

"Sometimes," he tested carefully, eyes firmly focused on his work, "I fake being a little bit slow up the hills just so I can run behind her."

Tony grinned widely, "No sane man could blame ya buddy."

Later, as they carefully gathered up equipment and put it away, Tony said "We should get everyone together for something tonight. You know, give you a chance to test out your new found ability to think about Darcy and sex in the same sentence."

Bruce made a non-committal noise. Making a few comments to Tony in the workshop was one thing. The thought of saying anything to Darcy? Well that wasn't really on the table at all.

"No, seriously," he went on, "I'm going to order in something extravagant, you'll have a glass of wine, and you'll work up the courage to tell her that her hair looks nice or something. That's totally friend appropriate but still lets her know that hey, you're thinking about her hair, so who knows what else you're thinking about."

"You sound like you've been working on this strategy for a while," said Bruce resignedly.

"Used it on Pep all the time. Casual compliments. She never knew what to make of it." He grinned fondly.

They were walking past the gym when they heard the muffled noise of voices from inside. They turned to the door to pass on the invitation to dinner, but what they saw when they came through the doorway was, well, unexpected.

It took Bruce a few moments to process, but Natasha had her hand around the back of Darcy's neck, and Darcy was sliding her hand down the other woman's hip and their mouths were drifting closer and dear god was that Darcy's hand on Natasha's ass?

All rational thought seemed to have fled, along with a rush of blood somewhere distinctly south. He struggled to pull himself together as Tony interrupted them.

"Oh yeah," Tony said enthusiastically, "ten out of ten. Oscar nods all around. Let's see it again"

He was having a hard time focusing as Tony pulled him into the room, and (when he thought back on it later) was carrying the sense of security from Tony's workshop with him.

So when Tony said "What do you think Bruce? On the scale of really sexy things I have seen this year, that's got to be a top ten."

He answered a little more honestly than he intended. "What exactly has topped that in your year?"

His immediate instinct was to take it back, retreat into the safe shell of manners and distance that he tended to wear around Darcy; but the way she blushed, color high on her cheekbones, and ducked her head, and the way he thought he saw her hiding a smile as she quipped back "Ha ha ha guys, this is super secret spy training, not material for your spank bank," made him think that maybe Tony had some good advice sometimes.

And, in for a penny in for a pound, he supposed. "You can't tell me what to do," he tried without much success to control a silly feeling of something akin to accomplishment.

He finally managed to pull the conversation back around to its original purpose and invite Darcy and Natasha to whatever it was that Tony was actually planning and then remove them both from the situation.

"High marks Bruce, just, really, ten out of ten." Tony crowed as they got into the elevator. "How does it feel to have your hat in the ring?"

He considered this. He felt nervous and a bit shaky, like an adrenaline high. He felt bold and silly. This feeling, worrying about what to say to a beautiful girl, borrowing bravery from a buddy, he felt _normal. _

"You know," he said, "it feels pretty good, actually."

Tony's idea of an extravagant dinner was not the same as most billionaires, or at least, what Bruce imagined of other billionaires. Then again, the imagination and the public persona of billionaires was a tricky thing.

He forcibly turned his train of thought back to the present. It was so easy, when he was comfortable, to let his mind take him somewhere very far away. And he was actually quite enjoying where he was at the moment.

The group of them, his team, his weird super family, as Tony had called it, were sitting around the floor of Tony's penthouse. There were takeout containers from restaurants that did _not_ do takeout strewn around, cartoons playing on the TV, which were being generally ignored, as everyone was quite focused on Thor telling a story. It seemed to be some heroic feat of his childhood. Jane was rolling her eyes as if she had heard it quite a few times before.

But Bruce kept drifting elsewhere. It was dangerous that way, what Tony had done to him. By 'putting his hat in the ring' so to speak, he had changed something about the way he was around Darcy. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse, this constant awareness. He wasn't even sure that what he had done was really putting his hat in the ring.

He _was_ sure that suggesting to Darcy, if rather obliquely, that he thought about her as a sexual being had made him watch her more closely, and in a different way.

He was always waiting with her; waiting for her to show something to him. Waiting for her to move closer, to grow comfortable, to reach out for him in some way.

She never touched him, the way it was. Not even the casual almost unavoidable contact that she shared with the rest.

So he was also waiting for a clear indication that it made her uncomfortable, the way he watched her. The way he always wanted to be near her. The way her conversation was how he measured his day.

It was juvenile, he knew it, this insecurity. The timid games and the baited breath expectation and disappointment of it all. But he didn't know any other way, in the end. The only time he had been in love, he had been barely more than a teenager. He had no reference for this, no adult experience to guide him. No well of attempts and rejections, chemical highs and broken hearts from which to draw guidance and reflection.

He was a proverbial babe in the woods, with Tony Stark his only guide, Lord help him.

He was pulled back to the conversation, which had veered towards the work related. It often did. It was rare for people in their situation to be able to talk unguardedly about their jobs in a room full of people with security clearance.

"Someone in the Balkans apparently got their hands on a Jericho," Tony was saying, "Bruce and I essentially hacked my own software so we could track it. In and out in under 10 minutes, by the end of it. Better living through science with a side of geniuses."

"Genii" corrected Bruce almost absently, "from the Latin." He grinned as the inevitable round of teasing that followed. Darcy was saying something, but he couldn't follow it, because something…something was tugging at him. That feeling where the subconscious was desperately dragging the conscious mind along behind it, trying to lay out the conclusion that it had already made.

"I have to go," he said suddenly, jumping up.

"You alright Bruce?" Darcy was looking up at him from the floor with clear concern.

He tried to be reassuring. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, scrambling for an excuse. "I just had a thought. It's a…a science thing."

Darcy seemed satisfied as she rolled her eyes, "Alright, go science."

Jane looked at him quizzically, "anything important, do you need me in the lab?"

"No, no," he assured her quickly, "It's my own thing."

It wasn't. Not exactly. It was Darcy's thing.

As he raced back to SHIELD, leaving a message for Maria Hill to call him as soon as possible, he wondered how he couldn't have seen this connection before.

It had been a long time ago when he and Tony had tracked the Jericho missile, designed by Stark Industries when it was still a major weapons manufacturer, to a local dictator with connections and delusions of power. And the source of the weapons hadn't been all that important to them at the time, since they knew the serial numbers on these missiles were the last left unaccounted for, there was no more supply to be had.

But he had traced the source all the same. These particular weapons had been slated for a mid-east operation under the leadership of one General Gabriel. An operation shut down after General Gabriel proposed a devastation based campaign and Stark Industries refused further support.

He couldn't be sure until he was in the lab, searching the SHIELD database. But his hunch, it turned out, was dead on. General Gabriel had been dishonorably discharged after attempting to carry out his operation without authorization. He had citations all over his record for insubordination and aggression. And he had a reason to dislike Tony directly.

Hill called him in the lab only a few moments after he had pulled the files.

"Dr. Banner, what is it?" her tone was clipped and efficient.

"I think I've got a lead on the General," he said, gripping the bench tightly, trying to maintain his calm. "General Andrew Gabriel was refused delivery of Stark's Jericho missile after Tony was captured. He was routed from the military for disobeying orders and carrying out a campaign with devastating civilian casualties to accomplish a limited goal. His whereabouts after his discharge are unknown, but he matches Darcy's description and fits with all of the analysis she has produced."

"What makes you think he went underground rather than just off grid?" she questioned.

"That's what made me think of him in the first place. The last Jerichos that went into the field went to him. Stark and I tracked them down in the Balkans last year. They had been sold on the black market. I was reminded of it tonight, and I just…followed a hunch."

There was a pause. "Good hunch," it was as close to a glowing approval as Hill ever gave. "I'll get this to forensics right away, see if they can't find a financial trail."

"Agent Hill?" He stopped her before she hung up, "I would appreciate it if you would keep my involvement out of this."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she asked shortly.

"Take the credit." He said simply, "You're doing all the hard work anyways, I just had the idea."

She paused. "I don't like it." She said.

"Take one for the team?" he tried.

There was a sigh. "Fine," she said, "but you are going to owe me for this."

"Thank you."

It was an optimistic day for him. Hill had been able to gather a lot of information based on his hint; they had made a lot of progress on shutting down the General's operation, and Hill had kept her word on keeping him out of it.

It was comforting and gratifying to hear Darcy more cheerful and focused than he had seen her.

However, only a few hours later he had to reassess his interpretation of the facts.

Bruce knew better than to blindly trust office gossip, but it was a suspicion that had already been lingering in the back of his mind. The way he had defended her, right from the start. The way they were always touching each other, the way he always seemed to be around when she was having a bad day, the way they seemed to unconsciously know when the other was in the room. So when he overheard two secretaries talking about seeing Darcy Lewis and Agent Barton exit a conference room together looking suspiciously disheveled, that suspicion that he had been trying to ignore moved its way up to assumption that he hoped was wrong.

But he didn't think it was, really. How could he compete with the man who saved her life? A man she didn't have to be afraid of, ever. A man that made her feel safe.

That little fire of resentment; at the world, at himself, and at _her_ for failing to rise above it, fairly exploded, leaving him gasping for air and running for containment.

He sat there for a long time, heaving as he struggled to control his breathing, to think rationally. Yes, he knew that she had every right to keep her distance from him, to be afraid. Rationally, he knew that she _should_ be. And he thought about how foolish he had been to ever even entertain the notion that she might not be.

But emotions weren't necessarily rational and couldn't be controlled, and that fire that sat right beside the color green inside him was _furious_.

He had done everything he could for her. He was so careful around her, thinking always about making her feel safe, feel comfortable. He had done everything he could to get to the General so she could be free of the threat hanging over her head.

And the moment he made a breakthrough, the moment he actually accomplished something _real_ for her…

She celebrated by fucking his teammate.

It was an ugly thought, but he was in an ugly mood. And all of the rational thought in the world, telling himself that she didn't _know_ about his involvement and reminding himself that office rumors were just _rumors_ couldn't stop it.

It was a long few hours before he felt calm enough, reasonable enough, to leave containment and go home.


	3. The Colour of Your Blood

Finding himself on Tony's balcony with a glass of scotch in hand and a lighter burden on his shoulders was becoming a welcome routine for Bruce. He wasn't so sure that his burden could be lifted today though. He wasn't even quite sure he was done wallowing in his misery for the moment.

His general melancholy was apparently so obvious that the moment they sat down, Tony asked him "Is it just that time of the month, or are you going to tell me what's going on with you."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ah, so this is about Darcy then," said Tony. "You know, you're getting to be a bit of a one note symphony in terms of personal problems Bruce."

"I'm pretty sure she's sleeping with Clint," said Bruce bluntly, not feeling like getting caught up in Tony's banter.

"Well that would be news," said Tony, mildly taken aback. "What makes you think that?"

"Observation," said Bruce, staring into his glass like it had personally wronged him, "and office gossip." He added a bit sheepishly.

"Well if the steno pool says it, it must be true," said Tony with a roll of his eyes. "Look, I don't buy it, but even if there is some hanky panky going on, you know what the obvious solution is, right?"

"No?" Bruce answered warily.

"Compete for her affections, pistols at dawn maybe, or just a really clever plan to sweep her off her feet." Tony looked a little too excited about this for Bruce's comfort level.

"I don't know," he said "Clint is a good guy, and he obviously cares about her. I wouldn't want to create any tension on the team…"

"Stop being so _careful_ Bruce! All's fair in love and war. If it makes you feel better, think of it as testing your 'Darcy is doing it with Hawkeye' hypothesis."

Bruce cringed, and then considered. "Well, her birthday is coming up…"

"Excellent! Perfect! We'll throw a party, you'll bring her a perfect gift that says 'do me' but in a romantic way, and you can see you she reacts."

"Tony, do all your plans involve presents?"

"Mostly, yeah."

And that's how he found himself in possession of two tickets to a Broadway show in very expensive box seats, heading to the Avenger's tower for Darcy's birthday party. It felt uncomfortably close to asking her on a date to Bruce. He also knew that, if she took someone else, it would feel uncomfortably close to rejection. And so, despite all of Tony's objections, he had brought a backup gift. Something practical, very platonic. Just in case his nerve deserted him.

It turned out to be a particularly helpful piece of forethought on his part.

There was a brief moment, where everything was hopeful, and the way she looked in her black dress made his mouth dry and his palms clammy and made it impossible to say no when she said "dance" with that smile on her face just for him.

But then Clint gave her jewelry, and talked in such an open and sentimental way about her, and when he said "dance," Darcy listened. And they danced, if that's what you wanted to call it. And Bruce's blood boiled. It made him glad that he had given her his back up present, and made him feel angry and selfish and horrible.

So he had to leave.

He was almost clear, jacket on, mind already outside, distancing himself from the internal turmoil he was feeling, when Darcy had to walk into the kitchen.

She was a little bit drunk, eyes wide, shoes off, flushed with dancing. It made him want to pull her into him at the same time as it caused a surge of ugly anger and jealousy within him. More at the universe and its infinite unfairness than at her. But also a little bit at her.

"Bruce!" she said his name almost carefully despite her ever so slightly swayed speech, "You're not leaving are you?"

She looked at him with wide eyes, and he felt her pull as he always did, never wanting to disappoint her, but being disappointed in her none the less. Wasn't she satisfied with the hearts she already had? Must she break his as well?

He took a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was not in a good place right now and this was exactly why he needed to leave. "Yeah," he said, trying to stay level and calm, "it's getting a bit…too much for me."

"Oh," she said, her face dropping into an almost comical moue of disappointment, "I thought you were getting better at this sort of thing, being around the team." And she looked so concerned and sad and had _entirely _the wrong end of the stick that Bruce felt she didn't know him _at all_. And it burned, and this one time, he wasn't going to swallow it to make her feel better.

"Look, you really haven't know me for all that long, so it's understandable that you would look at the way I sometimes act and the choices I make and think that I just need someone to pull me out of my shell or something, but that's not what this is. I am comfortable around the team, but I always have to put the other guy first. So the minute things start getting…out of control, or I feel angry or…or jealous. I have to leave. It's both a self and others preservation thing."

Well shit, that was a little more honest than he had ever intended to be. What was it about her that made him so unstable and so much himself at the same time?

She looked at him, and the urge to take back his words was almost insurmountable. He couldn't decipher the look in her eyes, didn't know if she understood what he was really saying.

When she spoke, he could hear a sort of deep sadness that made him sink.

"I wish I could take that weight away from you, just for a minute."

Oh didn't he wish she would, but it was good to hear those words from her. It felt like a door closing, or a page turning, he wasn't sure which. But it was enough that he could manage a smile, that he wanted to reach out to her, even though he knew he wouldn't. Enough to exit with his dignity in his back pocket along with the tickets.

And if he tore them up and made them into a pyre, willing his feelings to burn away with them, well no one else had to know about that.

The following Tuesday, Hill walked into the lab near the end of the day. Bruce was halfheartedly making notes on a running experiment, but his mind was somewhere else. It often tended to be when Darcy was at her desk in the Analyst wing, but he was working on that.

"Banner," she approached him without preamble, "team training in 30 out in the East hanger."

"Team training?" he plucked his glasses off his nose and raised an eyebrow at her, "you want me to run some sort of simulation?"

"No," said Hill, looking almost amused, "I want you to train with the team."

"Me," said Bruce, folding him arms across his chest, "or the other guy?"

"Take your pick," said Hill with a grin, "although the other guy might have more luck with the scenario we have set up."

"Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"It's an idea," said Hill firmly, "and it's good enough that it's worth trying. Besides," she continued, "you owe me."

The five agents armed with tranquilizer guns spaced around the catwalks in the hanger made Bruce a bit more comfortable, but he was still on edge. He felt ridiculous, standing around with his uniformed teammates, in what were essentially black briefs that Tony swore would also fit the other guy, as Hill explained their basic search and rescue objective for the obstacle course that lay in front of them.

He knew, even as he stood there, that he was not as level and in control as he was pretending to be. He wasn't sure this was a great idea in the first place, and he still couldn't look Clint in the face without feeling a rush of jealousy and frustration.

But the building was as safe as it could be, and he trusted his teammates to be able to take care of themselves, so when Hill started the timer, he took a deep breath, reached down into everything he was burying within himself, and let it free.

In retrospect, as he came back to himself, bleary and exhausted on the floor of the building, it could have gone a lot worse. As he looked around, everyone seemed to be standing under their own power and Steve was holding the red ball that had been the object of their rescue mission.

"Well," said Tony, breaking a strained silence, "we're all glad that the pants worked."

"Huh?" Bruce struggled to sit up and realized he was, thankfully, still clothed. "Oh, yeah." He rubbed a hand over his face. "So…" he gratefully took Steve's hand and pulled himself to his feet, "How did it go?"

Clint gave him a sharp look, "Could have gone better, Banner." He said cuttingly, "what the hell is your problem?"

Bruce noticed for the first time that, while the other members of the team looked relatively unscathed, Clint was holding his arm protectively against his chest and the side of his face was already purpling in a bruise.

"What?" Bruce looked at him in confusion, "I don't…"

There was an awkward silence. "The other guy," began Steve cautiously, "doesn't seem to like Hawkeye all that much."

Natasha reached up to wipe at a trickle of blood down Clint's face, but he abruptly pushed her away and stormed out of the building. Natasha rolled her eyes and muttered something in Russian under her breath. "Don't sweat it Banner," she said with a reassuring smile, "He's been in a foul mood all week. The Hulk probably just likes poking at the wasps nest." And she followed Clint out. Although, if Bruce had to guess, it wasn't to comfort him.

"All in all," said Tony cheerfully, "I had a good time."

Steve let out a long suffering sigh, "We'll just have keep working at it Bruce." He said. "Even though the Hulk seemed to target Hawkeye, he definitely wasn't a threat. So that's really positive. He did good out there."

"Maybe," said Bruce, "we should just give it some time."

While Steve seemed to accept this just fine, Tony was unable to resist the temptation to needle him about it as he gave Bruce a ride home.

"Not too fond of the old Hawk guy these days, are ya Bruce?" said Tony as they pulled away.

"It's not funny Tony," said Bruce sharply, "I could have really hurt him."

"Naw," said Tony dismissively, "It was really clear that the other guy was just enjoying the physical advantage. Swatting arrows out of the sky, giving boosts that were much bigger than necessary, that sort of thing. He seemed pretty pleased with himself actually."

"Well it's still dangerous," said Bruce, trying not to enjoy the image of the Hulk ruining Barton's trick shots.

"You know," said Tony with a sideways glance, "If you're that worried about it, you could always just ask Darcy if she's sleeping with Clint, get the whole thing out in the open, clear this mess up."

Bruce has to smile a little at that, "You are unfailingly persistent." He said.

"Just lookin' out for you, buddy."

"I'll take it under advisement."

The next morning, Bruce was feeling the effects of yesterday's training to the point where it was agony to pull himself out of bed. But Darcy would be waiting for him at the trail, and if nothing else, he still had that part of her life to himself. So he dragged himself into his running clothes and made his way out the door.

He supposed he had only himself to blame when the first thing she said to him was "Bruce! You look terrible! Sit down." But he still couldn't help himself from making a quip about his ego.

He didn't even try to disagree with her when she said that he should go home, but he wasn't quite sure how that had progressed to her _taking_ him home. He felt like he was drowning under the weight of his exhaustion, so it was easy to let her pull him along like the tide.

It did occur to him, almost idly, that she was coming to his house. And that this didn't bother him. And _that _was the really disconcerting part. No one came to Bruce's house, not even Tony. He didn't have the wilderness to escape to any more, he had this place, and it had always been his own. But somehow, despite the confusion and conflict and _messiness _between him and Darcy, it never occurred to him that he wouldn't ask her in.

And with the way her eyes hardened like they could cut the adamantium glass of the containment cell when he explained what it was, she shifted a little bit deeper into his soul, and Bruce knew there was no getting over her now.

It was an odd moment to feel this way, over something so simple as making her breakfast, when he was tired and wrung out, and almost certain she was unattainably in irrefutably someone else's. But there it was. So he didn't wonder what she thought of the books on his shelves, or of the picture of Betty he still kept, because all of that was the background and Darcy was right here in the up close and personal present.

And so, over chopping vegetables and frying eggs, he made a decision. One he had to come to on his own, and no amount of Tony's prodding would have brought him here before he was ready. This was _Darcy_ and he couldn't let her go without at least trying.

Of course, that wasn't to say he wasn't going to need some help on a strategy. He could start with the basics though. So he asked her about the recon mission he knew she was prepping for Clint and Natasha. She didn't seem too concerned about Clint leaving on the mission, which he thought was probably a good sign, but he got immediately distracted by the way her eyes always looked a little distant when she was talking about this project, hunting down the man who had hurt her.

He tried to be careful when he asked her how she was doing, and he expected that she would smile and say she was fine, like she always did when anyone asked.

But instead, she said ""It's fine. It's better, really, than just sitting around being helpless and useless. Natasha is helping with that too. I certainly feel less helpless than I did when I showed up here."

And she was focused, and present, and letting him in. And somewhere in the back of his head the absurdity of how much importance he was placing on a conversation over an omelet danced around, but he didn't care.

He thought maybe too much showed on his face when he said to her "A bit of an understatement, I think. I think you're incredibly brave."

She looked away, but when she spoke again it was in that same open way that wrapped around him like a binding rope and an anchor. "I can't help what happened to me. But I just want to do the best I can with the hand I've been dealt, you know?"

Bruce remembered, not too long ago really, hearing those words or something like them, and _believing _them in a way that changed his life. He had to smile, because it felt like maybe for once the universe has something _good _planned for him.

Bruce recalled that thought with startling clarity and a healthy dose of chagrin when he narrowly avoided walking straight into Betty Ross not a week later. His heart dropped like a rock and the pain of that parting came back to him with a visceral blow. He was hardly coherent when he went looking for refuge, but it didn't surprise him that he ended up in Darcy's office.

She was, understandably, confused. He had intended to offer her a ride home and instead was offering her a level of emotional immaturity worthy of a sixteen year old.

Bruce halfway expected to be kicked out and told to man up, which is probably what Tony would have said, so something in his gut gave a hopeful little lurch when Darcy said brightly "Can't help you with the whole physicist / universe thing, but I can help you get out of here with your dignity intact in exchange for that ride."

And then that same something gave an alarming leap as she told him to turn around and began unbuttoning her shirt.

He had the absurd urge to pinch himself.

He tried, he really tried, not to look at her wavy reflection in the polished surface of her door, but he caught a glimpse of pale skin and black lace and taut curves and his mouth went dry. He tore his eyes towards the floor before she spoke to him again, and when he turned around, he flat out forgot anything he had ever learned about being a gentleman and stared. How could he not, when she looked like that? When she looked like that _for him_?

It made him feel light, and confident, and totally capable of facing Betty if a woman like this was on his side. Looking at her, it made him almost forget why it hurt to see Betty in the first place. Not entirely, but enough that he could make a joke, take her arm, and propel himself out of the door.

He was looking at her like she was magnetized, but then he often did. Except this time, he noticed as they walked into the hall, she was looking _back_. She was looking back in a way that made him forget to move forward, made him stop like the electricity of it was rooting him to the spot. The way her hand curled around his arm, like an anchor, like a rope, made him realize that he couldn't remember touching her. Not since that first day that they met, when he touched the ruined skin of her back.

He was frozen, glued to the spot. He didn't want to break the moment, because it was _something_. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that it was _something._

And just then, as the moment was tipping over the precipice from _something _into something _more_, Betty's voice cut through and it was over.

And when he said her name, it was full of the anguish of the ruined might have been. He may have been saying Betty, but _Darcy Darcy Darcy _was all that was running through him. He tried to stay focused as the curve of her pressed against him, tried to make polite conversation when all he wanted to do was pull Darcy away and demand to know what _was _that.

The buzzing electricity of it had faded by the time the conversation ended, and he was glad of it. Because the way Darcy dropped his hand like it burned and the way she sounded so light and unaffected by whatever it was that had just happened, made him wary and unsure.

And Betty, standing there in front of him, brought the wild feelings of rage and desperation that had driven him to wander in the first place crashing down on him. He was a changed man now, he had a place, he had a home, and he wanted Betty to know that, wanted to heal over the open wound of how they parted.

He needed to break this down, sort through what he was feeling, move past the high buzzing emotion of the last few minutes. But that was really hard with Darcy sitting beside him in the car. He wanted to reach out and touch her again. He wanted everything to be simple. He wanted answers and clarity.

And the only thing he could think of to clarify was Clint.

So he asked, in as straightforward a way as he could. And she answered like it was strange for him not to know. Like her and Clint were a known quality. And he could only keep half his mind on what she was saying. Something about Betty, and he answered thoughtlessly, something about mending old wounds, moving on. Because the other half of him was busy holding back the crushing despair of knowing that the distance between him and Darcy was another man.

He was not in a good space when he arrived at the tower, and he went immediately to find Tony, hoping for some perspective and a strong drink.

What he encountered, however, was not nearly as centering.

He started down the stairs to Tony's workshop, but pulled up short when he saw Natasha, back pressed against the wall, her leg hitched up, and her lips crushing into Barton's. His hands were in her hair and he was pressed against her like gravity pulled him that way.

Barton. He could see Darcy's face, the way she quirked an eyebrow in surprise at him as if she and Barton were a universal constant.

And he was right there, abusing her trust in the worst way possible. Casually throwing away something Bruce would _die _to have.

And he couldn't even think, the blood was rushing through him and he could feel the other guy screaming and roaring to be unleashed, making his skin jump and his vision blur. And he ripped Clint away from Natasha, shoving him backwards.

"You FUCKING asshole," he didn't even recognize his own voice as it tore its way out of his throat. "How _dare_ you treat her like this."

Then he saw Clint's head whip to the right and Darcy walked around the corner. Darcy, her eyes wide in fear. Fear for _Barton_. And he said her name, like he _cared_.

Bruce lunged at him in fury, part of him struggling to hold on to rational control, part of him _really _wanting to see Barton afraid and out matched, pushed up against the wall. "Don't you even _look_ at her you piece of shit."

It alarmed him, in a distant sort of way, that he wasn't sure if the words were coming from him or the other guy, not sure at all. He could feel the urge to let go, hot and violent, pushing at his control like a battering ram.

He could see Darcy standing there, frozen and scared.

And he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop.

Not sure at all.


	4. The Proof that You Bleed

It alarmed him, in a distant sort of way, that he wasn't sure if the words were coming from him or the other guy, not sure at all. He could feel the urge to let go, hot and violent, pushing at his control like a battering ram.

He could see Darcy standing there, frozen and scared.

And he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop.

Not sure at all.

She was still speaking though, calm and sure. Asking Jarvis to get Tony. And he was clinging to the tremor in her voice.

She was saying his name. What was she saying? He shook his head once. She was talking to him, telling him to come closer. Something practiced about her tone. An even steady stream, but he couldn't focus. He was locked in a feedback loop, staring at Clint's hard and tense face. Hating it.

He tore away, looking towards her, it felt like a physical blow, seeing her tense frame, one hand held out towards him. And he managed to grind out "get out of here Darcy," and it was a little easier, looking at her, not looking at Clint. He felt the wall between him and the green nothingness strengthen a little.

"No," she said without any kind of hesitation. "Not going to happen until everyone gets out of here safely," and it struck a chord in him, making his stomach lurch and his skin ripple. Darcy was standing there, walking closer to him, and all he wanted, all he could think of was...god, _smashing_.

She was still talking, but he wanted, _needed_ her gone. "Darcy," he couldn't think straight, couldn't think of the words to get her out of here.

"You've got this," she said firmly, so close he could almost reach out to touch her. "You've got it." And, he found that he _did._

And then there was a crash, and a sharp pull across his middle, and the night air rushing by at incredible speed, and before he could process it, he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor of containment, with the door slamming shut behind him.

He was heaving like he had run a marathon. But out of the situation, with everyone safe, he could feel the rage pushing at the borders of his control sinking back downwards. And finally Tony's voice cut through to him.

"How ya doing there buddy?"

"Fine," he managed, "I'm fine. I'm okay."

"Well that was a close one, wasn't it," Tony said casually, pulling back his helmet.

"Close one?" he looked up at Tony incredulously. "I've ruined it. I've ruined everything. You should just, take me away from here."

"What exactly have you ruined?" said Tony a little carefully, "other than my window and any possibility of a bromance with Clint."

"Darcy," he said dropping his head into his hands. "I could have hurt her Tony. I knew I should never have…" he trailed off for a moment. "I did it to Betty too, I should have remembered, should have known. The moment she came back. I am no good for anyone. The other guy….he's no good. I need to keep him away from…everything." It didn't even occur to him to be embarrassed or to try and hold this pain back from Tony. Everything was so close to the surface.

"Wow, you know, that was a lot of whining all at once Bruce, and I'd love to sort through it later, but I don't think you've ruined anything with Darcy. Did you see her face?"

"She was _afraid_ Tony."

"She was afraid for _you_ Bruce."

"Just…go make sure she's okay." He said. Wanting space to think, to be alone. To stop being a danger to everyone around him.

"You don't want to come back? You probably owe Clint an apology."

"I don't want to talk to Clint." He burst out at Tony, his anger still to raw, his hurt still bleeding inside him like a wound. And then more quietly. "And I don't want to see her…afraid of me. I couldn't…I'm staying here."

Tony took a long look at him, and then nodded, pulling his helmet back in place.

"You are really gunning for some sort of award in needless self torture," he said, sounding a bit tired and igniting his repulsors. "And I should know" he finished, before flying off.

He sat there, his head in his hand. He couldn't tell if it was for hours or minutes. He tried to level his breathing without much success. Tried to push away his anger at Clint, the turmoil of his feelings for Darcy, the pain and confusion of seeing Betty again. He was lost inside himself.

And so he was surprised when Tony landed again, but with someone else this time. With Darcy. His breath caught in his throat as he jumped to his feet. A sense of betrayal flooding through him, at the same time relief at seeing her safe. He didn't even really register Tony flying away, because he couldn't look away from her.

He walked towards her.

"You okay?" he needed to know.

But she looked okay, looked solid. Looked…on edge.

"I'm not seeing Clint," she bit out, arms crossed against her chest in a protective gesture. Protecting herself from him, he thought. And a sickening feeling of despair and relief tumbled through him.

"I never have been. I never will be. And you've probably permanently derailed what he was trying to build with Natasha."

He couldn't process what was happening. She wasn't seeing Clint, the distance he thought was between them had never even been there.

But that look on her face.

He had seen it on Betty's. And he knew, he knew the distance between them _was_ another man. The other guy. The Hulk. Looming large and angry and _dangerous_ between them.

"Darcy," he couldn't stop himself, reaching out and placing a hand against the glass, and wincing in exquisite pain as she took a step back. "I'm so sorry Darcy." Sorry for getting too close, sorry for putting her in danger, sorry for thinking, even for a moment, that he could have happiness like a normal man, bring anyone anything but pain.

"Save it," her voice was harsh. He endured it, like the well deserved punishment it was. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"It's Clint you should be apologizing to. I just didn't want you to have to spend the night here."

He looked up at her, this last kindness from her making it impossible not to.

"Okay," she said, "okay. I'm going now."

She turned to walk away, and he knew that he would never be close to her like this again, and he couldn't help himself from calling out to her, wanting to draw out all of his last moments with her, even as he thought about leaving and distance and open spaces and no one to hurt.

But she didn't turn.

He sat there for another endless moment until Tony came back, this time in a cart rather than in the suit. Without a word, he cracked open the door to containment and dropped to the floor next to Bruce.

He sat there, after a moment turning to lie on his back, hands behind his head. Just waiting.

And finally, Bruce turned from his crumpled posture, stretched out next to Tony, looking up at the sky through the clear roof of his cage.

"I'm going to leave," he said finally, "I was kidding myself that I could ever be normal, be safe."

"Look," said Tony, gaze fixed upwards, "You're gonna do what you're gonna do, but have you thought about why the night didn't end up in a visit from big green? What would have happened a few years ago? Would you have been able to hold on like that?"

This gave Bruce pause. But he didn't say anything.

"Also," Tony took a careful pause, "I know this is about Darcy. But she's not the only one around here who would miss you if you left."

There was a long silence. And then finally, Bruce said quietly "I don't want to go."

And after another moment, "But I can't stand to hurt her like I did Betty."

"I can't tell you what to do," said Tony, "But if you can work it out, I hope you'll stick around."

And with that, he rolled himself off the floor and left Bruce alone with his thoughts.

He lay there for a long time, wondering if he could stay here, see her every day, but stay separate, keep his distance, keep her safe.

And he wondered if he could ever bring himself to leave. Never see her again.

By the time the sun started tingeing the horizon, he had come to a sort of compromise. He wasn't sure if it was right. But it felt like the best he could do.

He pulled himself upwards, and made his way to the trails, making sure that Darcy would be well on her way around the track before he arrived. He stood there, by the gate, wondering what he would say, but knowing that she deserved _something_.

When he finally saw her, coming around the corner out of the woods, like the first time he had met her, he froze, swallowing heavily. As she walked towards him, he could see that her eyes were puffy and red rimmed, like she'd been crying. And it hurt to know that he was the cause of it.

She stopped, farther away from him than normal. "Hi," her voice was guarded, her face closed off to him.

"Hi," he managed, and then, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to…" he couldn't think what to say, but the words just came tumbling out anyways, "I just came to tell you that I'll start running at another time. And I can find other lab space. I don't…I never meant to scare you. And I won't do it again."

It came out in a rush, but he felt…right about it. He could do this. He could stay here where he was needed and stay away from what he wanted. He was good at that, denying himself. He had enough practice.

"Scare me?" it wasn't what he expected her to say. Not at all. The look on her face was…well, it didn't look afraid…and she didn't look closed off anymore…she looked. She looked _furious_.

"I'm not _scared_ of you Bruce, I am _mad_ at you!" and she advanced on him, closing the distance between them and _pushed _him. He rocked back on his heels, blinking in surprise.

"Mad at me?" he felt like he was being dragged along in this conversation to somewhere very unexpected.

"You're goddam right mad," the force of her anger made him recoil a little, but at the same time he realized that the distance she had always kept between them, the way she was so careful around him, never really fully herself, it was absolutely and completely absent right now. She was completely, frighteningly and un-cautiously in a _rage_ with him.

It felt…kind of wonderful.

"How _dare_ you think that Clint would do something like that to me! And how _dare_ you think that I would let him. I don't need you to defend my honor."

She was close enough that he could see her pupils dilating, could feel her breath on his neck, and she was so present, and fierce, and unafraid, and _magnificent _that he couldn't help but feel a little lighter at it. She must have seen it on his face, because her mouth dropped open in indignation.

"Is this _funny?_"

"No," he said immediately, hands up in a conciliatory gesture, as he tried to find the words, tried to figure out himself what he was feeling.

"It's just…you're not scared of me, and you're mad because you thought I was defending your honor?"

"_And_ because you thought Clint would ever cheat on me…" she continued, but it sounded as though her anger was fading.

"But you're not dating Clint?" it fell out of his mouth before he even thought about it.

"No, I'm not," the high red color in her cheeks was fading, and the tension in her shoulders was falling away, but the carefulness, the distance wasn't coming back.

And a part of him, the part of him that wanted her protected, the _best _part of him was afraid.

"And I didn't scare you? Darcy, you _should_ be scared…"

"Yeah, okay the situation was scary Bruce. But we handled it didn't we? And you had it under control. I _trust_ you Bruce. So unless you're telling me I need to be scared standing here with you right now, I'm just going to go out on a limb and call you an idiot." Her stubborn chin jutted towards him, and there was a sparkle of humor in her eye. And he couldn't, he knew. He couldn't stay away from her.

It didn't change anything, not really. He wouldn't put her in danger. He wouldn't have her end up like Betty, that hard and distant look in her eyes. And lord did he know it would hurt, being near her, and never getting any closer. But there was no way he could stay away, and if it hurt him, then that was alright. So long as she could look at him like that.

"You…" he paused, trying to figure out what it was he was trying to say. "You're kind of amazing Darcy Lewis" was all he managed.

And that little bit of resentment, that little ember of anger, at never getting what he wanted, it burnt itself out. Because she _was_ amazing. She was looking at him the way she had that very first week, when she didn't know him, but knew him as he wanted to be known. Looking at him like he was just another man.

And that was enough for him. It would be enough.

"I try some days," she said. "And next time, can we please not go through all this self-sacrificing bullshit? Start with extravagant apologies, not this running away crap, okay?"

"Next time?" The casual way she spoke about it brought him rushing back to his senses. "Darcy, I don't _ever _want you to be around for…"

Darcy waived a dismissive hand, "Yes, yes, in an ideal world, of course. But the other guy is part of you Bruce, and _I'm_ not going to run away every time I get reminded of it."

He didn't know what had changed for her. What had broken away the last of the wall she had held between them. But he wasn't going to question it just now. Because somehow the worst night of his life had turned around and Darcy Lewis was standing in front of him and looking him in the eye, and accepting what he was.

"It's very hard to say no to you, you know." He hoped she couldn't see the emotion welling up in him.

"You wait until Tasha teaches me some of her crazy krav maga moves."

And she smiled at him, this little private smile that sent him floating and he struggled to hold himself together.

"Terrifying," he managed with a controlled smile.

"Now go shower and change and get down to the lab," she said, "Betty will be down to visit you at some point this morning and you don't want to look like…well like you do right now."

"Yeah, yeah alright," he said his thoughts a million miles away from Betty at the moment, "Darcy…" he paused, feeling lost, "I know that saying I'm sorry is completely inadequate, but I am...sorry I mean."

"Bruce," and the warmth in her voice and the way she reached out to him giving him the first little twinge of futile longing for her, the first hint of how hard this might turn out to be. "You are not the incredible burden you seem to think you are," she said. "This may come as a huge shock to you, but I actually _like_ having you around."

But it would probably be worth it.

"Now go," she gave him a little shove, "shower, find Betty."

"Right…right," he realized that he was just looking at her in amazement and finally pulled himself away. He probably could use a shower.

As he walked away, he couldn't help looking back. Feeling light. Feeling like he could work this out. If he could manage this, and he could manage almost anything for her, he could hold onto _home_.

Things were still unsettled. It wasn't going to fall back to normal easily after the previous night. Jane was wary around him. And while Darcy seemed as light and easy as usual, she was checking her phone often, sending text messages. He thought he saw Clint's name on her screen.

He was going to have to do something about that. He definitely owed the other man an apology.

But the routine of work was good, and settling, and by the time they stopped for lunch, Jane was looking him in the eye and passing information in the same easy way she always did.

And then Betty walked in.

Oh," she said as she walked in, finding them sitting around a bench finishing their food, "Sorry, I'm interrupting. I'll just…"

"No!" said Darcy jumping up rather awkwardly. "Uh, no. We're just finishing. And actually Jane and I need to run out for…poptarts. We…really like poptarts."

She was rambling. She was rambling like she did when she was nervous, and Bruce couldn't make head or tails of it. Why should Betty make _her_ nervous.

Bruce's hands were sweating.

"You stay, talk with Bruce."

He stood there, looking at her for a long moment. She looked good. She had always been beautiful. She looked happy. She looked happy in a way that he hadn't seen on her since he changed. And he was so sure of his resolve in that moment. So sure that he wouldn't ever let Darcy get that hard look in her eyes, the look that Betty had had the last time he saw her.

"Betty," he said finally. "It's good to see you."

She took a step closer with a smile. "You look good Bruce." She said, "you must be working on something interesting."

"We've actually been running iterations on a pattern recognition mechanism for the energy of the tesseract that should let us…" he trailed off as Betty laughed at him.

"You always were at you best when you were chasing down the answers to the universe," she said.

He gave her a sheepish smile, "Sorry," he pulled his glasses off his nose and placed them on the bench. "I can get a bit…carried away."

"I owe you an apology," Betty said abruptly. He looked up at her in surprise.

"What for?"

"For yesterday," she plowed on with a determined look, "I was unforgivably rude. It was just such a shock to see you, and the way we left things… it was. I wasn't at my best." She finished with a weak smile.

"No," he said firmly, "It was always my fault." He said with a sigh, "It's one of the things I regret most, hurting you." It felt good to say it. After all this time.

"We did a pretty good job of hurting each other," said Betty, reaching out to take his hand. They stood like that for a moment. The physical contact was good. It was like an echo of the comfort they used to feel around each other.

"Are you happy?" he asked her finally, "Are you happy now?"

She smiled at him, turning her hand over in his grasp to show him the slim gold band on her ring finger, "Yeah Bruce, I'm happy."

He ran a finger over the wedding ring, feeling a tinge of sadness, but mostly relief. Relief that her time with him, and the other guy, hadn't really ruined her life in the end.

"He's a lucky man, whoever he is." He said, genuinely meaning it. "I hope he deserves you."

"He does," said Betty with a secret sort of smile. "And what about you? You look like you have a place here. Friends. You're happy?"

"Yeah," he wasn't sure it was true really, but it was closer to true than it had been in a long time. "Feels sort of like home these days."

"And Darcy?" Betty asked, looking up at him with curiosity, "She's your?"

"Friend," he said quickly, "just a friend." He smiled a little thinly at her. "I've learned better than that."

"Better than what, Bruce?" Betty looked at him sadly.

"Never mind," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, forcing the thought of Darcy away. "Tell me what you're working on?"

He knew, as they spoke, that the hurt between him and Betty would never go away, but he thought that maybe they could build something different. Something like colleagues, something like friends. Something like moving on. And that was okay. Good even. He could build a life like this. He could have a place here, have friends.

And he could keep them safe.

Because damn him if he was ever going to do to anyone else what he did to Betty. He could build this thing with her, this thing less than friendship. But it hurt to remember her as she was, and he could so clearly see her face at the end. And it wasn't going to happen to anyone else.

There was one more hard thing to do today though. One more line crossed and friend put in danger.

He knocked on Clint's door, and was surprised when Natasha greeted him.

"Hi," he said, hands in his pockets, gaze on the ground. "Can I talk to you two?"

Natasha gave him a hard look and then glanced back to Clint where he sat on the couch before nodding.

He stood uncomfortably as Natasha perched on the arm of the couch, both her and Clint looking up at him with identical, unreadable expressions.

"I came to apologize," he said uncertainly, feeling an uncanny sense memory of being in the principal's office as a boy.

They said nothing, just kept looking at him evenly.

"I thought," he went on slowly, "Clint, I thought you were with Darcy. And I was having a…stressful day, and then when I saw you…" he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "It's no excuse. I should have better control. I just…" he couldn't think of what to say to them. They were looking at him with such a cool lack of reaction. "I couldn't stand the thought of seeing her hurt," he finished finally, knowing that the emotion in his voice was giving away too much, but unable to hide it at the same time.

He was looking down, so he was surprised when he felt Natasha's hand on his arm.

"None of us want to see her hurt Bruce," she said in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

"I suppose," Clint voice was markedly less sympathetic, "That if I had thought what you thought, I would have been pretty pissed off myself."

"I should have asked," Bruce said, "I should have talked to you. This team," he paused for a moment, "It means a lot to me."

"Yeah," said Clint. "Just…maybe let me know next time you're in a bad mood in my direction, yeah?"

Bruce nodded quickly. An easy promise. Right now, knowing that Clint had never been his competition for Darcy, even though that didn't matter anymore, it made him feel irrationally happy with the other man.

"And," said Natasha, "Maybe keep in mind that Darcy is a grown woman who gets to make her own choices and who can take care of herself."

"You know," said Bruce with a wry smile, "she said something very similar when she was tearing into me this morning."

This, finally, brought a grin to Clint's face. "Girl can yell." He said fondly.

"Yeah," he agreed. And then after a slightly awkward pause. "I should," he gestured at the door, "I just wanted to say how sorry I was."

They nodded at him in an oddly synchronized motion. He wondered if they recognized that about themselves.

"Bruce," Natasha's voice stopped him as he walked to the door, "Don't beat yourself up about this. You stopped it, you know. Held it together."

He let out a long breath, "I had some help," he said from the door.

"So maybe beat yourself up about it for a little while," said Clint with a wolfish grin. And Bruce had to smile back.

Clint needn't have worried about him beating himself up, really. Even if he felt better after reconciling with Clint and Natasha, he was putting himself through plenty of self torment.

Something had changed between him and Darcy. He wasn't sure if it was his doing, or hers, or a bit of both. But he was watching, and every time they so much as brushed shoulders in the lab, she jumped, almost imperceptibly, like a static shock.

And she kept asking him about Betty, that was sort of odd. He couldn't figure out why she was so interested in his reconciliation.

He thought maybe she was trying to place a distance between them again.

And then he learned about Jim. And he wondered, with a sinking sort of sadness, how he could ever have thought that she might feel something for him beyond friendship.

But she was still there, every day. She still looked at him without fear. And so he could handle the sting of loss, because he had never really had her in the first place.

He was sitting with Tony again, in the lab this time, watching Dum-E put a truly shocking red coat of paint on Tony's latest machine.

It was a coffee maker, or so Tony assured him. Pepper had complained about the quality of the coffee at SHIELD, and Tony had taken it as a personal invitation to intervene

"Why the red paint again?" asked Bruce casually.

"Iron man red," Tony corrected, and Bruce supposed that was answer enough.

"Ah." He said, sipping a beer.

"You seem okay," said Tony finally, like he'd been waiting to wade in. "How does that work."

Bruce had to grin at Tony's complete lack of tact. "I discovered a few things this last week," he said.

"Like Vicodin? Zanax? What?"

"I don't want to leave here." He said, the corner of his mouth turning up in spite of himself. "And if I want to stay, and not smash Clint to a paste, I had to make some decisions."

"Well, to be honest, Bird brain could use a few knocks to his ego every once in a while," Tony mused, "But what big philosophical decisions have you made?" he asked. "Enlighten me."

"I'm never going to be with her Tony," he said without looking at his friend. "I can't."

Tony didn't even bother to ask who. "I think that is bullshit." He said promptly, "you can't change how you feel about her."

"No," agreed Bruce evenly. "But I _can _keep my distance. Keep her out of danger. Last week," he paused, "You saw what happens when I get too close. So I can't. And I could rage at the universe about everything it has taken away from me. Or," he raised his glass in a wordless gesture, "I could be thankful for everything that I have."

Tony just looked at him for a long moment. He looked sad.

"Mr. Stark," Jarvis cut through the silence in the shop, "I've intercepted a priority signal from SHIELD."

Bruce and Tony both looked up sharply.

"What is it?" Tony asked.

"I'm afraid," Jarvis paused. "That Ms. Lewis has been taken. SHIELD received a message from the General with her location…and a challenge."

"A trap then," Bruce barely heard Tony over the ringing in his ears.

"Quite clearly," Jarvis agreed.

"The rest of the team suiting up?"

"They are on their way to the roof, except for Thor of course."

"Hell of a time for a trip to see the parents," Tony quipped in a tight voice.

It was taking a while for the information to penetrate his brain.

_Ms. Lewis has been taken. Ms. Lewis has been taken_.

It rolled around in his head, setting him spinning. Until it settled into place with an almost audible thud. The bottom of his world dropped out and he couldn't see anything in front of him.

Darcy was gone.


	5. Marching Off to War

He let out a strangled groan. Tony turned to him sharply.

"Bruce," he said fiercely, grabbing his arm.

"She's…" he gasped out, his breath heaving, skin rippling.

"She's alive Bruce. And we need you. We need you to get her back."

"I can't." he couldn't breathe.

"She _needs _you." Tony pulled him so he was looking the other man in the eye. His eyes strong and focused.

He took a gasping breath. And then another, holding on to Tony with a death grip. "Okay," he ground out. "Okay okay."

Darcy was alone out there. With the man than hurt her. He could hold it together for her. He had to.

A sudden and visceral image of her scarred back flashed into his head, the photos in her file.

He turned to the side and retched.

"Whoa, whoa buddy." Bruce felt Tony's hand on his back. "Come on, deep breaths, think calming thoughts."

Bruce whipped his head up, a green flash of rage bursting behind his eyes.

Tony immediately pulled back, his hands in front of him.

"Okay, got it. Not the time for jokes."

"Sorry," Bruce ground out. "I'm doing my best."

"Well your best looks a lot like 'in control' to me, so let's get up to the roof and make a plan. Earth's mightiest heroes right? Saving one totally not helpless damsel is cake. Let's get to it."

Bruce pulled himself to his feet. He felt like he was walking through cement, the shadow of the Hulk hovering all around him, making it hard to think, hard to move, hard to breath. He let Tony lead him, unable to do more than shuffle along.

The cold breeze on the roof of the tower snapped him back to himself, if only a little. Her image was hovering at the very front of his consciousness. He couldn't stop himself from imagining where she was right now, what was happening, imagining the worst.

He forced himself to pay attention as they stood on the roof, the whirring of machinery as Tony suited up. The Captain was talking, telling them where they were headed. Clint looked murderous and Natasha was watching him like he might break at any moment.

Hill walked up to them midway through.

"SHIELD is refusing authorization," she said tightly.

Clint raised an eyebrow at her.

"And I told them to shove it and took the Quinjet." She said with a roguish grin.

"I like you a lot more these days Agent Hill," said Tony, his metallic voice coming through his helmet.

"So," Tony's metallic voice cut through, "trap, yes?"

"Obviously," said Natasha.

"All in favor of going in guns blazing anyways?" Tony continued.

Every single one of them, even Maria Hill, stuck there hands in the air without a second thought.

Hill turned to Steve, "Thoughts Captain?"

"We look for the weakness in his plan. History indicates that he is not a subtle man. There must be something we can exploit, a way to gain back some surprise."

That struck a chord in Bruce. He had spent hours and hours poring over all the data they had on the general, reading every report every profile Darcy had produced.

His head snapped upwards.

"Hawkeye," he must have sounded…angry, because Clint took a step back immediately.

"No," he ground out, "Hawkeye and the Widow. He never mentioned you. He doesn't seem to consider you a threat."

"Yes," Natasha agreed with a truly frightening sort of enthusiasm.

"Alright, that's the plan." Said the Captain. "Me and Banner will take the chopper, Stark's with us. Will you make it Bruce?"

He nodded. He had to.

"Hawkeye and Widow, take the Quinjet with Hill. Stay cloaked, scan the area for the weapons development. We'll see what we can do to trigger a few things. Then take it out, and we get to save the day." The Captain grinned. "Now let's _move._"

It was only a fifteen minute ride, but he wasn't sure, now that they were on their way, how much longer he could hold back the fear, the rage, threatening to swallow him.

He felt Steve's arm on his, gripping tightly. "Almost there Bruce," he said reassuringly, "I need you to hold it together."

"It's _hard_," it slipped out, painful and harsh.

"Look," Steve fixed him in the eye. "We need the other guy there and we need him on our side. Darcy needs you on her side. I know you two are close. Focus on her, okay? Can you picture her."

Always, every moment, inescapably.

He nodded.

"Alright, get in, get Darcy, get out. That's all you have to do. Focus Bruce."

He felt himself falling, being swallowed, exploding.

Steve pulled harshly on his arm, "focus!"

"Get in," he rasped, "get Darcy, get out."

"Right," said Steve.

He let it roll through his head like a mantra until finally they touched down. He was out on the ground before Steve could unfasten his harness.

The building looked like a prison, and he could see her face, scared and alone.

He couldn't breathe.

"Bruce," Steve was standing beside him. "Go get her."

There was a moment, it was always the same, where he could feel the pit of rage inside him swell up through his veins, like fire coursing through him. He could feel his bones changing, muscle re-knitting, the world spinning and shrinking around him. And then the green fog reached up behind his eyes, stealing his conscious thought and passing it over to the other guy.

When he came back to himself, he was lying in a field, somewhere that thankfully looked fairly removed from civilization.

He pulled himself to a seated position groggily.

Darcy was there, looking at him with an odd expression on her face that he couldn't place.

"Darcy?" his mind was moving sluggishly, and everything about him hurt.

She waved at him and said "Hi Bruce!" in a bright and incredibly loud voice.

And then, finally, _Darcy was there_. A flood of relief so pure and wonderful rushed through him that he forgot, for a moment, that she must have seen the Hulk, must be afraid. Forgot about his pain and fatigue.

He moved over to her, grabbing her hand, checking her for injuries, all of the worst case scenarios he had imagined. "Are you okay?" he wasn't looking at her face yet. Too busy reassuring himself that she was here and whole.

With his hands on her shoulders, she let out a low noise and his gaze snapped to her face, instantly alert. "Did I hurt you? Where does it hurt?"

And then, like something straight out of the most primal part of his brain, she whispered "Feels _good_." He felt an instant flush of heat, a tugging low in his gut. The look in her _eyes_. "Touch me Bruce. I want you to touch me."

It was so eerily similar to words he wanted to hear from her, had heard a million times in furtive fantasies and the secret places of his heart. Her name slipped off his lips in a way that he was sure made public all his private things.

He blinked, wondering if he should pinch himself, or maybe pinch her.

He looked down at her arm.

Then he reached out and grabbed it.

Two tiny red dots ringed in angry, swollen skin right below the crease of her elbow. He brushed a thumb over them to confirm that they were puncture wounds.

She gasped, but it didn't sound like pain. Not at all. The smooth skin of her throat was bared to him, he long neck arching away. He could see her pulse beating through her skin.

All of the worst case scenarios came crashing back to him.

"Darcy," he dropped her arm. If she kept making _noises _like that he didn't know if he could stay focused. She needed his help. "I need you to focus. Look at me."

She lowered her head and looked directly at him. It may have been a good idea for her, but he was regretting it. The look on her face was so open and dreamy, and focused on him like a laser beam.

"You have such beautiful eyes," she said. Her head was drifting, tilting slowly to one side as she considered him with a focus and purpose that made him want to forget everything and kiss her senseless.

He put his hand on either side of her head, trying to ignore the silken slip of her hair through his fingers, trying to steady himself as much as her. "Darcy, I need you to tell me what he drugged you with. What effects are you feeling? Are your fingers numb at all?"

He could see her try to focus as the tip of her tongue swept across her lips. He swallowed heavily, unable to take his eyes off her mouth, unable to stop himself from reacting to her, even as he clamped down furiously against it.

"MDMA," she said. She reached out, her hands swaying a little until they rested in his hair, tugging in a way that pulled straight to the center of him, "and sodium pentathol. Your hair," he couldn't stop the low noise of approval the escaped him, what she was doing with her hands, the human contact, and _her _dragging it from him against anything he could control. "I like your hair." He started to close his eyes, and then her words bubbled up through his molasses slow thought processes.

He exhaled sharply, standing and taking a steadying step away from her. He felt like he could still feel her warmth, even at this distance.

"Sodium pentathol makes you more compliant." He retreated to science. Science was safe. Science was steady. "MDMA causes feelings of euphoria. It lowers your inhibitions and makes you more…open. It can also make things feel…intense"

"Intense," it was almost a moan escaping between her lips. "Yeah, that sounds right." She stood up and took a step towards him.

"Darcy," he felt panicked. This was not a situation he was particularly prepared to handle. "You're drugged. You're not thinking clearly. When you get this stuff out of your system, I…I don't want you to hate me."

He winced. Oh this was not good. He started cataloguing in his head all the really solid reasons that he and Darcy was a bad idea. Number one being that, outside of being severely drugged, she hadn't expressed any interest. The look on her face that night in the tower and the fear of hurting the way he had hurt Betty distant seconds at the moment.

"Bruce," she took another step, he tried to maintain the distance between them, grasping desperately to reason and rationality. But that look on her face, that focus aimed at him, was driving his mind to distinctly irrational places. "You _saved_ me. You saved my life. You're so…" She took another step in, and he was losing the will to step away.

He clenched his fists and willed himself to think of the women in accounting, the time Pepper's great aunt had come to visit, alien hordes invading New York, _anything _to let him keep control. "You're my hero Bruce" She smiled at him, and he forgot to breathe.

And then she reached out and put her hands on him, her palms hot against his bare chest, and he felt like he couldn't breathe fast enough.

He couldn't take his eyes off her fingers watching them as they ran over him, her fair skin contrasting against his browned shoulders, down the dark hair on his forearms. He didn't know how to stop this, didn't know how to get his rational brain to overpower the part of him that wanted this, wanted this more than anything in the world.

He let out a groan, "Darcy, you are _killing _me"

"Don't die," she whispered, soft and sweet. Like it was a secret just for him. He vaguely wondered where all his good sense had fled to, but he could feel her now, skin on skin, the way her head tucked perfectly against his shoulder, how easy it would be to rest his chin against her hair and breathe her in. The way she pressed against him, the softness of her breasts and the sharp bones of her hips.

She made a little noise, the air of it cool against his skin. And he felt like he could listen to her make it forever. Almost unconsciously, his arms came around her, floating over her lower back.

She canted her hips into him, pressing against him, more intimacy, more contact than he had felt in years and years. His hands pressed flat against her back, fingers under her shirt as his name crossed her lips.

And he could feel the raised and rough skin of the scars on her back. Remembered the way she had shut down the first time he had touched her. Remembered all that time it took for the distance between them to disappear, for her to be a comfortable piece of his life.

And he felt sick.

He pushed away from her with a force that set her weaving on her unsteady feet. "No." His voice was harsh with self hatred.

"Sorry," she said, but she didn't sound particularly sorry. He fervently hoped that she didn't remember any of this too clearly. And then she went on "Your skin is for Betty."

This rather odd non sequitur rolled around for a moment before clicking into place. The way she talked about Betty, the way she gave them time alone together… Here he was trying desperately to keep his hands off of her, and she was trying to set him up with his ex-girlfriend.

"Betty," he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he wasn't very successful. It didn't make it any easier, having decided to keep his distance from her anyways, to have it thrown in his face, how being close to her had never really been an option in the first place. Especially when he could still remember the feel of her against him. It made him feel like lashing out.

Just another day of the universe deciding that hey, Bruce Banner isn't miserable enough yet, let's throw some more shit his way.

So his voice was harsher than he intended when he said "I really wish you wouldn't help with that." But she didn't seem to notice.

Darcy giggled and started spinning, her axis alarmingly off kilter. "But I want to _help_" she was starting to sound even loopier, "you _love_ her. Who am I to stand in the way of _love_."

"You think...?" Bruce ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the sky.

Is this enough? He wanted to ask. Is it enough that you throw her at me, this woman I can never have, and then force me to talk about my _love life_ with her. When will it be enough? When will I have paid for my sins?

He knew, though, that it was never enough.

He sighed. "I have no idea why I'm having this conversation with you right now, but I am _not_ in love with Betty."

"Did I make you mad?" she sounded so hurt that he immediately regretted letting this get the better of him. His ongoing quarrel with his universal karmic debt wasn't her fault. Especially not right now, when she was so vulnerable and so very much beyond her own control.

"No," he said calmly, trying to think how to explain this to her in a way that would make sense right now. "It's just all I want is to patch things up so we can be friends, or at least civil to each other. When you push us towards each other, it just… I mean she's married." It was a lame answer, and only a half truth. When she pushed him together with Betty, it made his heart break.

"She's MARRIED?" Darcy exclaimed, her voice bright and excited. She was twirling again. In another mood, in another situation, he would have laughed. "She's married!"

It was far beyond him to explain why this was such an exciting fact in her current state. He needed to get her back to SHIELD, get the drugs out of her system, both for her own safety and for his.

Thankfully, the noise of a helicopter was approaching rapidly. He watched as Darcy tossed her head back and spread her arms, her hair blowing about her wildly in the backwash from the rotor.

Clint rappelled down towards them with a harness. She was shouting something up at him, but he couldn't hear it over the noise.

As soon as he hit the ground she ran at him and threw her arms around the other man. He wondered sullenly if she was asking _him _to touch her.

Clint looked up at him over her shoulder, bright alarm in his face. He moved in close enough to be heard.

"She's heavily drugged" he said shortly, "MDMA and sodium pentathol. She's a bit…uh" He was trying to find the appropriate words, but Darcy interrupted him anyways.

"Bruce won't touch me," she said, pouting like a child, "but I want him to, it feels so _good_." Bruce tried to fight back the color that rose immediately to his cheeks and shrugged helplessly at Clint.

"Oh boy," he said, "You are _not_ kidding. Okay Darce, let's get you home, yeah?"

He moved to hook her to the harness so she could be lifted, but Bruce could see immediately that something was wrong. Her eyes were rolling into the back of her head and her steps wobbled.

"Darcy?" He ran towards her as she turned to him. She opened her mouth as if she was going to speak but instead her head flopped to the side and she collapsed. He was barely able to get an arm under her head before it hit the ground.

"Bruce, what happened!" Clint knelt on Darcy's other side right away.

"I don't know for sure, I don't know how much is in her system. It could be just a faint or it could…"

As he was saying it, she started to convulse, her heels digging into the dirt, ribcage arching up from the ground at an impossible angle.

"Shit," Bruce swore harshly, "She's overdosing. Goddamit. Clint, we need a stretcher _right now_."

The ground around them was littered with embedded rocks, so he sat behind her and pulled her shoulders into his lap, protecting her head.

It didn't last for more than a minute, and by the time the stretched had been lowered from the helicopter, she lay totally and unnervingly still. Her breathing was shallow and her pulse was thready, but it was there.

They got her into the helicopter as soon as possible and made for SHIELD at top speed.

Clint sat across from him, and he watched the other man over her still form.

"She gonna be okay Doc?" he asked finally, headset making the worry and fear in his voice come across loud and clear.

"Yeah," said Bruce, "She'll be fine, you got here in time."

"You saved her life." Clint responded quickly. The other man was looking at him with something like gratitude, and certainly with more understanding than he had seen since the first time Darcy had come into their lives.

"It wasn't me," he said after a moment, "The other guy…"

"Same thing," said Clint firmly. "She can see it. We can all see it Bruce. The Hulk went right for her, didn't even bother with any unnecessary smashing, the same way you would've."

He considered this, and then nodded. "I suppose so," he said finally.

They were silent for a moment, and then it finally occurred to him to figure out exactly what had happened.

"The rest of the mission" he asked. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine. Probably safe at home by now. Once we took out the primary defenses, it wasn't anything but a bunch of mediocre guns for hire. As far as we can tell, Darcy was out of there within minutes. The Hulk was on a mission, apparently."

Bruce almost cracked a grin at that. "Get in, Get Darcy, get out." He said, repeating Steve's last instructions to him.

"Pretty good progress from 'Smash"" said Clint.

"Don't tell Hill," he said. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"You got it," Clint reassured him.

"And what about the General?" he asked cautiously.

"Being processed into solitary confinement as we speak," Clint said with a violent sort of glee.

"Good," Bruce said firmly.

It took him a moment to realize that, with the General out of the way, Darcy wouldn't have a reason to stay anymore.

He sat, watching her vitals, the slow steady beep of the monitor, long after the SHIELD physicians had left. Nurse Cheryl knew better than to ask him to leave.

So he was sitting, half dozing, still exhausted and sore, in the chair next to her bed when, a few hours later, she shifted, blinked, and woke up.

"Darcy?" he pulled himself up with some difficulty.

She looked at him, opened her mouth once, and then immediately closed it, color rising in her cheeks.

She mumbled something, but he didn't catch it.

"Darcy, are you okay?" She looked like she might be feverish.

"Definitely not," his momentary alarm for her well being was quickly replaced by a completely different sort of discomfort as she said "but if I die of anything today it's definitely going to be embarrassment."

So, no luck on the "her forgetting the whole thing" idea.

"Don't even think about it," he said quickly. Oh please _please _don't think about it. The way she made him say her name, the way it felt to be pressed together, the way it killed him to stop. "You weren't exactly yourself."

By the look on her face, he suspected she definitely did remember those things, but was completely happy to pretend like they never happened. And that was okay. Status quo. Easiest way to handle it.

It didn't mean he would _ever _forget.

"What happened?" she asked, moving on to the safer topic of hospital stays and diagnosis.

"You had a bad reaction to the drugs in your system," he said, "The combination of the two, once they had taken full effect, overloaded your neuroreceptors and interrupted the transmission of…"

"English please," she snapped.

"Oh, right," he paused trying to find the non scientific explanation, "Uh, you had a seizure?"

"Yes, I do know the meaning of the word seizure," she said. "Is there going to be any long term effects?"

She sounded irritated, which he supposed was to be expected. It was a little bit amusing, not that he'd ever let her know, how textbook her symptoms were. So he firmly concealed any hint of amusement as he said "No nothing like that." He reassured her quickly, "You'll probably feel a bit off your game for a few days, but you've been strictly ordered to take the week off work, so just spend a few days lying low and you'll be fine."

"And what about the General?" it looked like it hurt her to ask, so he was really pleased to be able to give her the answer she wanted.

"Locked up in solitary," he said, "and he'll probably never leave."

"Good," she said firmly, and then after a moment, "Also, the Hulk smashed him. I'm not sure if you remember that…"

"No," he said, wary of broaching the subject of her encounter with the other guy "I don't usually remember much of the other guy, but I'm glad he got a good crack in."

It wasn't very often that he envied the other guy anything. But the idea of throwing the general against the wall, doing it with his own human hands, carrying Darcy out of there himself. He wanted it in a way that was somewhat frightening. It made him want to believe it, that there was a little less "other" in the other guy.

"I didn't know he could…follow orders like that," said Darcy, "he sounded like he was on a mission." She seemed reticent, like she knew that this was shaky ground, that he didn't like talking about the other guy, and especially not with her.

He took a moment before composing his response. "It was a bit of a risk, I won't lie to you" he said, "But we were balancing going in without Thor _and_ the Hulk and the other guy has been working with the team. And…Darcy, I couldn't… we couldn't think about anything but getting to you." He didn't want to tell her that there really hadn't been any balancing, any evaluation. There was no way he was staying out of this fight, and no one on the team ever thought of stopping him.

It was a surprising realization, now that he was actually thinking about it, the way Steve was so convinced that he could give the Hulk a mission and that it would be carried out. And that he was _right_. And maybe it had just taken the right motivation to get him to trust himself.

"You did," said Darcy reaching out and taking his hand, he looked down at it in surprise.

"You know," she continued calmly, like their linked hands was nothing new and completely ordinary, "the other guy really wasn't all that scary."

It was something he couldn't believe, even from her. He laughed, but it wasn't pleasant. "I doubt you'd say that if you hadn't been drugged six ways from Sunday."

"I think you're wrong." And she sounded so certain of it. "Underneath it all, he's still got you at the root of him. And I could never be scared of you Bruce."

He looked up at her, and she was looking at him, and he felt sure that too much was showing in his eyes, because she looked away.

He could do this. This day was just a hitch in the plan, a momentary back slide in his determination to keep his distance, be her friend, keep her from getting hurt.

So when she put on a teasing imitation of her drugged tone and said, "You really are my hero," he pushed his feelings down, thought about what Tony would say, and responded in kind.

"Typical, the one time I get to rescue the girl, the only reason she comes on to me is that she's drugged to the gills."

It seemed to be the right thing to do, because she smiled at him, relaxed and comfortable and said "I always knew you guys only did this whole hero gig to get laid."

And he couldn't help but laugh, if only because it so far off the mark but so close to the truth.

When the rest of the team started piling into the room, he made his excuses quickly and left.

He ended up wandering the corridors for a little while, he didn't want to go home, but he didn't know where it was that he wanted to go.

Not until he found himself standing outside the detention block.

He scanned his way in, not having any idea what he was here to do, but knowing he needed to do it anyways.

The agent on duty let him in without question and he stood outside a glass partition, looking into the cell where the General sat, propped against a wall in a corner. He looked bruised and battered and utterly defeated.

And something dark and a little bit green inside Bruce was thrilled to see it.

"General Anderson," he called out, surprised at the venom in his own voice.

The General looked up, "More medical care courtesy of SHIELD?" he said without much enthusiasm, "Such concern from those who are ending my life."

He was confused for a moment until he looked down and realized he was wearing scrubs and a lab coat that he had hurriedly put on to help the SHIELD physicians when they had arrived.

"No," he said, "I have absolutely no concern for your welfare."

This seemed to catch the General's attention and he pulled himself to his feet.

"Come to gloat then?" he said cuttingly.

"Something like that," Bruce responded evenly. "I'm Dr. Bruce Banner."

It was clear from his response and the way he took a step back that the General knew who he was.

"I'm here," he continued, "To tell you what your mistake was, so that you can sit here and rot as you think on it." The words were crawling out of him like bile.

"Oh?" the General raised his eyebrows, "What was it."

"Darcy Lewis," he said savagely, "You took her because you thought she was nothing, you hurt her because you thought she would break, you set a trap because you thought she was helpless." He took a breath. "But she is not helpless, and she is stronger than you can possibly imagine and she is not _nothing_. She is _everything_." He spat the words out. "And from the moment you laid a _finger _on her, you were finished."

He stared down the General as he saw defeat in his eyes, and gloried in it.

He supposed he should have expected him to lash out like a wounded animal.

"Does she know that you're in love with her, Dr. Banner?" he asked viciously.

"No," he said without waiting, "She couldn't possibly know. You know better than that, don't you? No one could know your true face and look on you with love. You're the real monster here Bruce Banner." He was becoming hysterical, and Bruce just looked at him calmly.

The truth didn't hurt so much when you said the same thing to yourself every day.

He'd had a lot of time to adjust.

"She's safe," he said finally, "and you're in here. And that's all that matters."

The oddly triumphant twisted grin on the General's face gave him pause for a moment, but rather abruptly he never wanted this waste of a man to take up a moment of his life again.

So he turned and walked out.


	6. If You're Made of Calcium

The lab was quiet without her. Jane was off running some samples through the particle accelerator elsewhere on site, so he was alone.

He found his thoughts drifting back to her, even though she was tucked up at the tower, safe and recovering. He could see her so clearly behind his eyelids. Her lab coat tossed haphazardly over a skirt that was far too short, but he wasn't going to complain.

He could almost see her standing there. It was so easy, his mind far away from his work, to slip into one of his favorite fantasies.

Walking up to her in front of the lab bench, backing her up until she could go no farther and her eyes widened just a little bit, knowing exactly what he was about, but not about to stop him.

He would slip his hands under her lab coat, resting them on the swell of her hips, his fingers pressing into her soft skin. His body close to hers, but not touching yet, maybe just the whisper brush of fabric against fabric. And he would whisper her name, the breath of air lifting the strands of her hair. She would smile, just a little, just at the corners of her lips, and he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He would duck his head, and press his lips against hers. It would start simple and soft, but she would press back against him, challenging and fierce, her mouth opening under his, and he would lose control, just a little bit, no longer simply kissing, but devouring her. Pressing her hard against the bench, her softness cradling the hard insistence of his want. Wanting for _her_. And she would make that little noise, the same one she had made when…

"Earth to Bruce," Tony's voice nearly caused him to jump out of his skin, immediately flushing.

"S…sorry, lost in thought," he tried for nonchalance as he cleaned his glasses.

"Bruce Banner!" Tony exclaimed gleefully, "you were _daydreaming _weren't you. And I get three guesses as to who, but the first two don't count."

Bruce sighed, "What do you want Tony."

"Nothing but your happiness," he said brightly, "I'm just trying to get you to realize you're being an idiot."

He felt like he was reading from a script that he had played out over and over again when he said "I'm happy being her friend Tony, and that's it."

"How far up denial's ass are you these days Bruce?" asked Tony.

He was saved from responding by the sound of an incoming text message on his phone. It was Darcy's tone. He must have shown something on his face, because Tony shot his hand out with unerring accuracy and snatched the phone off the lab bench.

"Oh! Speak of the devil," said Tony, "She wants to know how your run was this morning. Someone's missing you Bruce." He singsonged.

He couldn't stop the soft flood of pleasure that came over him, hearing that. But he tamped it down quickly. "She's bored and confined to the tower, that's all."

"And how was your run this morning, really Bruce." Tony asked, a little too innocently.

He replied without thinking, "Lonely," and immediately winced.

"Oh that's good," said Tony, typing into the phone. "Anything else you want to add?"

Bruce dropped his head onto one hand with a long suffering sigh, "at least as her how she's doing."

He found himself waiting almost breathlessly despite himself for her answering text. The little ping came quickly and Tony raised his eyebrows.

"She said," he cleared his throat, "and I quote: 'same. Feel like playing hooky?'" He immediately typed something else.

"Tony! What are you telling her," he was reminded of grade school friends, telling secrets to the whole class.

"I told her yes," said Tony, "go and be a friend Bruce. And maybe think about manning up and making your move."

Bruce rolled his eyes and reached out, grabbing the phone back from Tony just in time to see her next message. Well I could use a couch buddy.

He could do that. He could be a buddy, couldn't he? Friends did that, right? It was a question he found himself asking more and more often as he found it harder and harder to draw the line between what he wanted and what he shouldn't have.

Anything you want me to pick up on my way over? He sent back, pointedly ignoring Tony's rather pleased expression as he sorted away the papers on his desk. His smugness was almost deafening.

"Oh shut up," said Bruce finally, but he couldn't help but be good humored about it. Tony may be really excellent at pushing him where he didn't want to be pushed, but blowing off work to hang out with Darcy was a pretty positive result, all in all.

And it turned out that it was the most normal and comfortable he had felt around her in a while, until Tony came in looking like he was a hair's breadth away from spilling all of Bruce's secrets in the name of _helping_.

But thankfully Tony held his tongue and he held on to his dignity, and the world kept turning.

It occurred to him, some time shortly after he started noting how…sentimental the group of them seemed towards Darcy, that she really _was _going to leave. Go back home and to her safe and normal life. And leave all of them a little lonelier.

He wondered if he would feel the relief he should, seeing her safe and far away. Or whether he would feel only regret.

He was somewhat surprised but certainly not unhappy to see her in the SHIELD hallways the very next day.

He was halfway through formulating a good reason to ask her to lunch, when he finally processed that she was walking awfully quickly and seemed upset. She hardly seemed to notice him as she broke into a run and slammed into the closest washroom with a violence that unnerved him.

He followed, standing outside the door for just long enough to confirm that something was really, really wrong. He knocked, but wasn't surprised not to receive a response.

There was nothing that was going to keep him from going to her anyways.

He approached her cautiously, pausing to fill a glass of water, not exactly being sure of his footing in this type of situation.

She looked shockingly pale, and he crouched next to her, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ears without even really thinking about it. Sometimes he thought it odd, that she did this to him. From the very first time they met, she had drawn him in like gravity.

"You alright?" obviously she wasn't, but what else did you say in this sort of situation. He wished he had something more than empty platitudes. He expected her to try and convince him she was fine, so he was surprised and _frightened_ when she shook her head.

"It's Jim," she said finally, in a voice that seemed barely under control.

Bruce didn't have to search far into his memory for the name to trigger a flash of rage.

"Jim Reynolds? The Analyst who you were … Did he hurt you?" He tried, he tried as hard as he could to keep his focus here, in the room, on Darcy's obvious distress, and to control the urge to let the other guy handle this his way.

"He's…he's the General's son, they think. The operation is still running. He's gone AWOL. Hill suspects he's going to have it out for me. And…I just…I wanted to be home for Christmas." The words tumbled out of her as if she couldn't keep them in, racing through until she finally broke down and sobbed.

Something inside of him was breaking. He had a horrible flash of something a bit like relief. Because she wouldn't be leaving, not yet. And he hated himself for it.

He jumped to his feet, trying to take steadying breaths. He gripped the edge of the sink, he wasn't sure he could ever remember being so angry at one particular person before in his life. It wasn't the same overpowering but unfocused wash of green rage that came from the other guy. It was from him. Not to say that the Hulk wasn't reveling in it. But this was _his _rage.

He heard himself curse almost as if from a distance, and he hardly noticed when the tension in his arms fueled by the razor edge of his anger cracked the porcelain of the sink. Until he heard Darcy's sharp intake of breath.

Something about it reminded him of how his mother used to draw herself inside every time his father was angry. The memory cut through his anger better than anything else could have.

He hurried to her, pulling her to him, and speaking reassuring words into her hair. Making silent promises to her through his arms. _I won't bring you into this, I won't put you in danger, I will keep you safe. Your fate will be so much better than my mother's. _

"I promise you Darcy," and it wasn't just about his promise to protect her, because he always would, but it was also about his promise to himself, to keep his distance, to refuse to put her in harm's way, to refuse to put her in _his _way.

The way she looked up at him, the way the tension in her frame started to seep away bit by bit, and the trust in her voice when she said "I know," and "Thank you," seemed to answer both his spoken and unspoken promises.

But he couldn't convince himself to stand up, take her home, move away. Not when she was quiet in his arms. And he could do this for her. It hurt, with a sort of exquisite longing, the smell of her hair and the way she curved into him like a refuge. Knowing that she needed his comfort, but she didn't need him. Not in the way he so desperately wanted and was just as desperate to avoid.

He could be here for her, be whatever it was she needed, and take what he could from it, take these little moments of closeness, of being able to imagine a different future, a world where he was safe. Where he could bring anything to her life but pain. It was selfish, he knew.

But in the end, he would only be hurting himself.

Christmas was coming. He was watching Darcy carefully, now that she was back in the lab. She was doing incredibly well with all of this. But he supposed, rather upsettingly, that being the target of a madman wasn't exactly new to her at this point.

He had enough practice watching her at this point, though, that he could see the brittle fragility that she was hiding. The way her eyes tightened just a little bit every time someone brought up the upcoming holidays, or the way she'd put in her earphones when certain Christmas songs came on the radio.

And the memory of the break in her voice, that day in the bathroom, where she said "I wanted to be home for Christmas," made it clear to him exactly what was going on. And no one should be sad at Christmas, certainly not her, and certainly not if he could help it.

"So," he said, in what was probably a vain attempt to be casual one morning in the lab, "I think Tony is planning some sort of Christmas party. Frankly, I'm a bit concerned."

"Oh yeah?" said Darcy distractedly, eyes focused on the readings chirping out of a very delicate piece of equipment.

"I don't know that Tony's Christmas traditions are the best guide to follow," he said with a wry smile. They probably involved half naked flight attendants and a bottle of something expensive.

"Probably something to do with stripers and booze," Darcy said, sparing him a tight smile and eerily echoing his train of thought.

"I was thinking, as the resident expert on normal families, maybe you could suggest some slightly more crowd pleasing traditions. What is the Lewis family Christmas like?"

He held his breath, hoping this was the right approach and that she wasn't about to shut him out.

She was silent for a moment as the machine's cycle ran down, and then she turned to look at him.

"I can see what you're doing Bruce," she said, but it wasn't without humor.

He tried to look innocent.

"And I don't need you all to tiptoe around the holiday for my sake. It's just that Christmas at home is a pretty big deal in my family, and yeah, I'm sad to be missing it. But hey, how many girls get to say they spent Christmas with Tony Stark and kept their clothes on, right?"

"I would suspect it's a quite small and incredibly prestigious group." He agreed, and then continued, "But I was serious about needing some help talking Tony out of doing Christmas his way."

"You tell him that all booze must be in festive form. It's a rule," she said with a smile.

"Festive form?"

"Egg nog, apple cider, or hot chocolate." She counted off on her fingers, "those are the only approved booze vessels. And you tell him that just because gin tastes like Christmas trees doesn't make it count."

Bruce had to smile, "any other rules I should be aware of?"

"Stockings would be nice," she said, "and a really big tree. And you tell him to get me lots of extravagant presents." Her eyes twinkled, and he could see her warming to the subject, the way her eyes softened.

"Are your parents extravagant gift givers?" he asked, settling back against the lab bench, work forgotten for the moment.

"Not extravagant, no" she said, "But the best at it. We didn't always have a lot of money when I was little, before the ranch had really developed its reputation. But my parents I think must have spent all year writing down every little thing I said that hinted at what I might want. They still managed to do it when I moved away too. Sometimes I think they must be mind readers."

"Really, they're that good?" he asked with a grin. He didn't think she knew how talking like this made her look so much younger, untouched by all the bad in her life. Her eyes were lit up, her hands unable to be still while she talked, there was a glow about her.

"Last year," she said "I could have _sworn_ I never told them about it, but I had been hunting around for the first edition of this particular comic. It was almost impossible to find and _way _too expensive for a girl still carrying a pile of student debt, but my parents, somehow, just _knew_ and there it was under the tree on Christmas morning."

"Comics, hey?" he had know somewhat abstractly that she collected, but he couldn't remember ever talking to her about it.

"Oh," she paused, "Yeah. I've got a bit of a collection." She grinned, "You know, I've actually got a bunch of those new ones about you."

The thought had never really occurred to him. He was generally slightly uncomfortable at the pop culture popularity of the Avengers…and of the other guy in particular. But if Darcy was collecting them…well he supposed he was pretty okay with that.

"Oh," was all he managed though.

She raised an eyebrow at his obvious discomfort. "The artist who does them is phenomenal," she said, "Although whoever writes the story obviously has no idea what they're talking about."

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to cover his awkwardness, "Artistic license, I suppose." He said. "But you're right, the artist is great. I've met him once or twice."

"Really?" she asked excitedly, "I don't suppose you could get something autographed for me?"

An idea was formulating in the back of his mind as he saw her wide eyes eagerness. "Sure," he said noncommittally, "I'll let you know next time I see him."

She smiled a wide and brilliant smile at him. "Awesome."

He smiled back, "Nerd." He said fondly.

"Says the man in the lab coat with goggles on his head," she quipped back.

"I never said it was a bad thing," he answered mildly.

"Well neither did I," said Darcy and stuck her tongue out at him.

And lord help him, but he found it adorable the way she couldn't stand to let him have the last word.

"Oi!" Jane hollered at them from the other side of the lab, "If you're done deciding who the bigger nerd is, maybe I could get those readings I asked for?"

Darcy rolled her eyes, grabbing the print out that she had been working on.

"This isn't over," she said to Bruce in mock challenge as she headed over to placate Jane with numbers.

No, he supposed with an inward sigh, he didn't think it would ever be over for him.

When Hill called him in to assign him to head up an arctic research team, he was initially excited. It wasn't that the work he did in the lab wasn't satisfying, but somewhere along the way he had developed a taste for travel. Especially now that it really _was _travelling, because there was a stable point to return to at the end of it.

When he discovered, however, that due to the timing of the atmospheric phenomenon they were set to record, they had to leave early in the morning on Christmas day, he was less enthusiastic.

He had spent a considerable amount of time talking Tony into a more traditional holiday for the residents of the tower, and was looking forward to it more than he cared to admit. The thought of being there to see Darcy's face when she found a full stocking and presents under the tree had been filling up his mind for days.

His present to her, which he hoped had been the right thing, was completed. The framed piece of art currently sitting on the table in his living room. He almost considered making a copy for himself, but decided that this was probably a step too far, and he wouldn't want to face her questions if she ever found it.

But there was no changing SHIELD's mind, and certainly no chance of special treatment from Maria Hill, so he supposed Christmas Eve would have to do.

And, sitting with Jane and Thor trying to find a logical way to explain the Christmas story to an Asgardian, he thought that it was the best Christmas he could remember. He hadn't really had all that many, and all of his Christmases as a boy had been tainted with anger and violence. He hadn't stopped to observe it when he was on the run, and the brief moment in between, when he had been with Betty and before the world turned upside down, were clouded over the way that even the shiniest memories get tarnished by tragedy and hurt.

He could see Darcy, sitting a little distance away. She was by herself, but she looked…content. Maybe not as happy as he would have liked to see her, but it was still good to see her relaxed.

He supposed now was as good a time as any, as everyone else seemed occupied elsewhere, to give her her present.

"Hey," he settled into the seat beside her, "Everything good?"

"Everything's good," and her smile made him believe it, "I'm just sitting out, feeling the glow for a minute."

"Tony's threatening to start a Charlie Brown Christmas drinking game," said Bruce, trying to keep his voice light and normal. He was starting to think maybe his present was a bit…personal. But he couldn't exactly take it back. So he said, "I got you something, and I sort of wanted to see you open it. Since I'm not going to be here tomorrow morning…"

"You're not staying over?" The way her face dropped made him feel a traitorous warmth. Knowing she really missed him when he wasn't around, knowing that he had a place along with the rest of the people she kept close to her.

"Can't," he said, smiling a bit despite himself. "I've got to head out on this recon tomorrow."

"But can't you leave in the afternoon?"

He had certainly tried. "SHIELD didn't seem very concerned with my holiday plans." He said with a shrug. He had a sneaking suspicion that Maria Hill was quite clear about the way he felt about Darcy and was determined to keep him at a safe distance from her. Hill could join the club, as far as he was concerned.

"Duty calls, I suppose," said Darcy. "Now you were telling me about presents?" The way her face lit up made him smile. It was amazing to him, how completely untouched an innocent she could be, even after everything.

"Yes. It's nice to know how easily distracted you are from my hardships." He was working to maintain his distance, keep his conversation skating over the surface.

"Gimme," said Darcy with an incredibly charming and mischievous grin. And he couldn't say no.

He watched her carefully as she unwrapped the commissioned piece. She was quiet for a stretch of time. Her eyes darting over the stylized portrait of herself. It stretched out long enough that he began to feel the itching discomfort of embarrassment.

"I know you collect comics," he started to explain, hoping she remembered the conversation that had sparked this idea in the first place, "and the guy who does the art for those Avengers comics owed me a favor."

"Bruce," the way she said his name, he quickly realized that he may have gotten this one thing right, "This is _incredible_."

And it felt _good_ to be able to do something so uncomplicated as get her the right Christmas present. He felt inordinately pleased with himself.

"Good." He said "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it." He wasn't prepared for her to launch herself at him, pulling him into an embrace. Even though she had become more comfortable around him lately, he wasn't used to being close to her like this. It made him think of standing with her in a field, and the way she had pressed against him. He swallowed heavily, but wrapped his arms around her anyways. He wasn't above stealing moments like this.

His stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, however, when the alarm of Tony's newest robot dubbed "Kissletoe" (Bruce had protested against both the machine and the name to no avail) sounded above them.

He shot daggers at Tony who chirped back at him unrepentantly "We got ourselves a live one!"

He looked up at the ceiling in despair. He recognized that determined look on Tony's face. There was no way he was getting out of this one gracefully.

And then, the thought occurred to him, that he didn't really _want _to get out of this.

Darcy was looking at him with wide, skittish eyes. It was clear enough that she wasn't exactly leaping at the opportunity. And it was enough to assure him that this was likely to be his only chance.

If stolen moments, things that were meaningful for him alone, were all that he would have, then he would take them. After all, he told himself, it was only his own heart on the line. Only him that stung at the reticence in her eyes.

So he willed his hands to stop shaking and took a steadying breath. He stood, holding out his hand and pulling her to her feet with what he hoped looked like casual amusement instead of heart racing anticipation.

"In the spirit of the season?" he tried for a casual. He didn't think it worked too well. Tony, at least, was grinning at him with something between pride and amusement.

She nodded.

It should have been meaningless, friends caught in an amusing moment at a party. But he couldn't help the way he felt about it. Serious, and a little bit sad, stealing a pale imitation of what he could never have.

He couldn't help the way his hand drifted up to rest against the smooth skin of her shoulder, the way his fingers threaded the soft, wispy hair at the nape of her neck. He watched her, ready to pull away at the least sign. But then he was close enough to smell her light perfume, and her eyes fluttered closed, and he closed the last gap, pressing his lips against hers.

It was nothing really. A few seconds that felt like a million years. But his breath came short when he pulled away, and he wasn't sure he was all that successful at holding onto the pretense of casual good humor.

It was easier to turn to Tony's boisterous reaction, and let her slip away. Give himself a minute to gather his thoughts.

Thankfully, everyone else seemed to think it was just a good joke. Tony got another one. Big laughs all around. Clint, though, shot him a suspicious sideways glance. And Tony pulled him into the kitchen looking contrite.

"Are you…" he started.

Bruce grinned, "I'm fine Tony. A little late to think of it now, anyways."

"Well, then I'm going to go ahead and be disappointed that you didn't take the opportunity to make a bigger gesture." Tony said.

"Tony," Bruce said in a fond exasperation that was becoming second nature. "A kiss under the mistletoe doesn't change anything."

"No," said Tony, "I can see you are still being a stubborn idiot." He turned back to the stove and ladled out some cider. "At least go take the poor girl a hot drink. And maybe think on what could _possibly_ have happened in the last few minutes that would leave her flustered enough to take in the freezing cold air on the balcony, hey?" He pressed the mugs into Bruce's hands.

He rolled his eyes at Tony, but followed his instructions anyways. He hoped, he really hoped, he hadn't crossed a line, ruined the casual comfort they had been building with each other.

He was relieved to find that, if anything, the way she spoke to him while she stared out over the snow dusted skyline, was more open and honest than he often saw from her.

And the way she talked about loneliness and the way she moved closer, and wrapped her arm around him, warming him even through the chill air, he thought that maybe it wasn't only him the universe was unfair to sometimes.

The injustice of her having only a useless and wasted thing like him really know how much she deserved to be loved cut at him in a way that made his own pain, born from his hopeless desire for her, seem pale in comparison. But even as he assured her that there was no way the universe could be that unkind, he thought about how Darcy might look at a man who she truly loved, and thought about what it would feel like to sit on the sidelines and watch it. And he held her tighter and pressed his lips against the top of her head in a rather uncharacteristic show of affection.

He hoped for it, for her sake, for the sake of seeing her happy.

But he also dreaded the day, because he knew his heart would never recover.

Later, when he was trying to stay warm and struggling with machines that weren't built for the cold, he found it hard to hold on to his objectivity. Hard to not feel the insistent ache of missing her, more than he missed the others.

Because he knew, when he was being honest, that he was a selfish man. If he thought he could really have her, he didn't know if all of the good reasons to push her away would ever be enough for him.

And he thought about the way her hand had curled against his side on Christmas Eve, and the way her lashes had fluttered against her cheek and her eyes had looked unfocused when he kissed her.

He thought about kissing her a lot.

And he wondered, he wondered if maybe… It was a foolish hope, and a dangerous one. And one he knew couldn't be real.

But it was so quiet at night here, and is his small room, the only noise the low hum of a space heater, and with reality a thousand miles away, he let himself think about her without guilt.

He thought about that day when he had saved her from the General, and how it might have gone if he was a different man. The way he might have pushed closer to her rather than pulling away. He thought about Christmas Eve, the way her lips had pressed soft against his. The way they had stood together on the balcony, how easy it would have been to pull her into him, to bury his hands in her hair and kiss her like she deserved to be kissed. Breathless and needy and wanting.

He thought about the shape of her as he took himself in his own hand and wished it was hers.

There was a catalogue in his mind of moments. Surreptitious glances at the way her body moved when she ran, watching her in the gym with Natasha. Watching her spar with Steve of with Clint, the way she never held back. The noises she had made when she slept in the hospital, the aftereffects of the drugs making her restless and wanting even unconscious. He thought about the feel of her underneath his hands, every time they had touched.

And he thought about the way she sometimes looked at him, like the way she had looked up at him in the hallway, right before Betty walked back into his life. They way she had looked at him across his table, eating breakfast with him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he had never seen her look like that at anyone else.

And he came with her name on his lips, every time.

He was a foolish man, he knew. Tony was right, in some ways. He was foolish to think he could go on like this forever. But he was also just a man, at least some of the time.

Selfish and base and so desperately in love with her.


	7. Mx Missile Proof

What had supposed to be a three day trip had been extended to six. Bruce had taken to irreverently humming the theme to Gilligan's island, much to the annoyance of the other two members of the SHIELD science division that accompanied him.

"Unless you can produce me a Ginger or a Mary-Anne," Dr. Calendar finally burst out, "will you cut it out Banner?"

Bruce looked up from his work to the other man with a wry grin, "Sorry, going a bit stir crazy." He apologized.

Darcy, he thought, was definitely more of a Mary-Anne.

"My wife is going to _kill _me if we don't make it back for Stark's New Year's party," Calendar said, "You're not the only one who wants out of here."

"We'll make it," said Bruce. He was anxious to get back in time for Tony's party for his own reasons. "I think I've finally worked out how to calibrate this piece of junk so it will stop crashing."

Once the process was running smoothly, he had a lot of time to think.

He wasn't sure it was a good thing. There was something unfair about absence making the heart grow fonder, when he would fall out of love with her if her could.

It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed, the desperate wanting always tainted by a darker turn of mind, the way that even the simplest day dream wasn't really _simple_. The way the thought of touching her was starting to call up memories of bruises on his mother's face that she could never quite hide. Or coming back to himself to find Betty bleeding and shaken.

Every memory of her was imprinted on him, and every time he entertained foolish hopes or let his mind wander free from his iron clad control, it always brought him back to this. He couldn't escape his history and he couldn't escape the monster that lived inside of him, and every single path that led to having her also led to hurting her.

He had to stop this. It was becoming impossible to stop himself from wondering when he was around her, wondering if maybe, in another world. Or maybe just for a moment.

He was halfway to deciding he needed to leave New York for good, but the other half of him was burning to get back to her.

It was tearing him down the middle and fraying the edges. He felt used up and tired.

He paused, somewhere in the middle of the maudlin train of thought, realizing he'd been turning around this in circles for what felt like years now. This wasn't healthy, this wasn't normal.

This friends thing wasn't really working out.

He needed to make a change, get on level ground again, get a hold of his downward spiral before everything got a little too green.

Not that he had any better idea of exactly what he was going to do about it, but the decision felt like positive progress, like maybe there was a glimpse of self respect and control on the horizon.

But the way Darcy looked when he spotted across the room when he finally made it to Tony's party made him feel like maybe he could deal with forward motion and self control a little bit later, because it was a crime that a woman that beautiful was standing alone.

She was searching the crowd, and it wasn't until he met her gaze across the room and her expression lightened that he realized she was searching for him. The thought of it brought a smile to his face and he raised his hand, unable to help himself from greeting her across the room, aware that all of his resolve and good intentions had walked out of the room when she walked in.

The smile on her face and the soft radiance that seemed to hang about her when she waved back and watched him approach with a singular focus made something in his gut do a slow loop and burn a little brighter.

He stopped, as close as he dared, because she looked soft and warm and beautiful and was such a contrast from the cold and the dark of the last week that he wanted to reach out and wrap himself in her.

"Hi," he said in a way that he hoped was casual. It was difficult, as he was also able to really take in her appearance at this distance. He always thought she was beautiful, and he liked that she was casual and comfortable and didn't wear clothes and make-up like armor the way so many did.

But this, this wasn't armor. This was like a window or a magnifying glass. Highlighting and magnifying all the little things he noticed every day, now on display for everyone to see. It made him feel a little bit lightheaded and incredibly unwilling to let anyone else get close enough to her to realize it.

He realized after a moment that she was asking him about his trip.

"Uh, good" he responded, "it was sciency…" Sciency? Bruce tried to give himself a pep talk, you go with sciency? Better than spitting out his inner monologue, he supposed, better than "you look incredible."

Well, so much for that theory.

She didn't seem to mind though. Instead she reached out, her fingers against his sleeve feeling almost like an electric current.

So he deflected the moment. He was getting quite practiced at it by now.

There was a bit more dangerous of a moment approaching though, as Darcy pointed out the time, and Bruce really wasn't sure he wanted to deflect that one. Like the kiss under the mistletoe at Christmas, he was embracing masochism and taking what moments he had left. Especially now that he knew he was approaching the limit of what he could stand. There was a confrontation coming, and probably a departure. It didn't make him a smart man, or a brave man, he knew, but there wasn't much he wouldn't do to take the memory of her tonight with him when he was gone.

"Would you like to dance?" It sounded braver than he felt, but when he pulled her into him, his hand sure and strong on her waist and heard her gasp in surprise and tilt her face up to him in admiration, he felt like he could take on the world.

He felt a brief flash of hopefulness, that this feeling couldn't be a bad thing, could it? Maybe this thing that he felt for her could just swallow up all the danger and darkness in him.

He let himself sink into the fantasy, the music winding down and the numbers ticking down to the beginning of a new year, and the only person in the world he wanted to start it with standing in his arms.

And the way she was looking at him, her eyes sparkled, and she looked _happy _and uncomplicated, her cheeks flushed from dancing and from the warmth of the room.

10 , 9, 8

Her name slipped from his lips, but he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say. He had to say something, or he was going to kiss her again.

But she didn't pull away, didn't follow up his aborted thread of a conversation. Instead she smiled at him and reached up to place her hand against his cheek.

7, 6, 5

He didn't know what she meant by it, didn't want to think too hard on it at the moment. Convention, or convenience, or maybe even attraction; her reasons weren't going to stop him now, because it felt like inevitability. And her reasons wouldn't change the fact that reality would still be there tomorrow, waiting to hit him across the face.

4

He watched her eyelashes flutter closed, her scent, something clean and sweet, rose up to meet him.

3

He felt it before he heard it, reality cutting in a little sooner than he would have hoped. He froze, a sinking feeling like vertigo rooting him to the floor. Of course, he needed the universe to remind him what he was needed for, his phone screaming at him that it was the monster they valued, not the man. No stolen moments for him, no moments of pretending.

He sighed, feeling gravity pull him downwards until his heard rested against hers, her silken curls brushing his cheek.

"Happy New Year," she said with a sort of resigned amusement. He tried to smile at it, convey the same casual air that she did.

"I have to go," he said. "Stay safe okay? I'll find you after." Light, like he wouldn't be gripped with terror until he saw her safe and the threat eliminated. Like he didn't want to finish what he had started, countdown be damned.

But duty called, and he ran towards the front of room where he could see Steve and Tony already gathered.

"Roof?" he asked as soon as he reached them, Clint and Natasha close behind him. "Doesn't seem like they're airborne" said Steve, "might be best to engage on the ground. Hawkeye, get to some high ground and give us a picture." Clint nodded and headed briskly for an elevator, shucking his jacket as he went. "Everyone else," Steve turned to them with a wry grin "Better suit up quickly. Wouldn't want to ruin the formal wear."

Bruce really only had a few moments, once they were out on the street, to really let it sink in that there were robotic knights in downtown Manhattan.

"Banner?" Steve said, pulling his cowl over his head, "You ready for this?"

Tony landed in his suit just beside them, "Got a bit of pent up frustration to work off, I bet." He jibed Bruce.

He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes, "I'm angry enough already Tony," he said, "You be careful or the other guy will ruin your suit."

"Naw," Tony said, blasting an approaching mechanical cavalcade, "the big guy loves me."

Bruce's final thought before the world went green was that Tony was probably right.

He never really remembered being the Hulk, just bits and pieces, flashes of sight and nightmares that jolted him awake in a cold sweat.

But right now, he could clearly remember hurtling down a street at impossible speeds, animal panic tearing its way out of his throat. He remembered Darcy, sitting astride a black horse, her pale thighs clenched tight against the animal's flanks, her hair in a wild mass around her head, fear and determination in her eyes.

He wondered if he was dreaming, but that couldn't be. This hurt too much to be a dream.

He couldn't breathe. There was a tinny ringing n his ears, but he thought he heard someone calling his name.

His vision swam, but he would know Darcy even if he was blind. She sounded worried.

He tried to reassure her, tried to sit up and say her name, but pain snapped bright and blinding in his chest, washing over him like a wave. He was drowning, and he couldn't see her anymore.

And then everything was nothingness.


	8. When the Leaves in Earth are Down

He was stuck in an endless moment, submerged and afraid. It could have been minutes or days, but there was a subtle shift happening, a transition from drowning to swimming. There was someone there, waiting for him at the surface, so he kept struggling to pull himself upwards until all at once, reality resolved around him.

"Bruce?" It was so soft he could almost have imagined it, but when he tightened his grip, Darcy's fingers were there under his and he felt a surge of relief. She was alright, whatever had happened, she was okay.

"Darcy," he started to speak, but was surprised to find his voice not really working that well. It felt rusty. He wondered how long he had been here, or where here even was.

He heard harsh and panicked breathing, and for a moment thought it was his, until his vision cleared enough to see Darcy. She was still in her red dress, but smudged with dirt and soot, and white faced with wild eyed panic.

"Hey, it's okay Darcy, it's okay." He wasn't in any sort of condition to get out of bed and help her, so he did the only thing he could think of. He tugged on her hand, thankful that the bed he was lying in was clearly not a standard narrow hospital cot. "Get up here, and just lie down, face on the pillow. Long slow breaths. It's okay."

He could still smell the faint hints of her perfume as he put a hand against her hair, needing to reassure himself that she was here and _he _was here and, somehow, they had escaped disaster again.

"Are you alright?" he asked, once her breathing had calmed.

The noise she let out sounded strangled, and for a moment he thought she couldn't breathe. "Am I alright? Bruce, you jumped in front of a missile and you're asking me if I'm alright?" He let out a sigh of relief. Even though her face was still in the pillow, he recognized the familiar tones of her sarcasm. A good sign that she was going to be okay, or at least that the world was still turning.

So he was calmer when he replied, "You know, I do vaguely recall that," he paused for a moment, sifting through the flashes of his memory. "Were you…were you on a horse?"

"Yeah," she said, as if this should not be surprising at all. Bruce filed that away as something to follow up on later, but right now he couldn't quite manage to think of anything to say, because she had turned her head to face him, and she was so close it would take only a tilt of his head to press his lips to hers, finish the countdown that had started….last night? A week ago?

Then she continued, "And now that's the second time the big guy has saved my life."

It was a rude interruption to his thought process, the way the other guy always was. He didn't like knowing that Darcy had been around him, both because he didn't like knowing she had seen him like that, and also the danger it put her in made him shudder. But she was looking at him evenly, no fear or disgust in her eyes. She looked…grateful, he thought.

He tried to smile and passed it off with "That's two you owe me, junior," just to see her smile.

And then she did the strangest and most miraculous thing. She turned on her side, hitching herself close to him so that her hand pressed into his shoulder next to her head where in lay against him, and her leg tucked over his, almost protectively.

He froze for only a moment, and then slid his arm around her, not exactly knowing what was happening here, but unwilling to question it for the moment. Near death experiences gave him a pass, didn't they? He hoped so. That or the morphine drip certainly should at least cut him a bit of slack.

"Is this okay?" she asked softly.

She was being careful, he could see, trying to avoid resting against any sore spots. He wanted to tell her that she could dig into his chest and rip out his heart and it would hurt less than the thought of being away from her right now. Instead, he responded, "Yeah." He was pathetic. He could feel the faded lines of scars under the silky material of her dress, and the way they pressed against his fingers was fascinating to him, "this is good."

"Don't you ever do anything like that to me again, okay?" Her voice was muffled, but the pain in it, the pain at the thought of _him _in danger, it pulled at him in a way that made him long to pull her closer, but in the end only reinforced that he had to push her away. He never wanted to be the cause of that kind of pain in her voice.

"Okay," he said, but it wasn't okay, because even if he knew it would be better in the long run, he was beginning to think that maybe it wasn't only him who would be hurting when he had to leave, had to do the right thing, keep her safe, and make sure she never saw him again.

When he woke up, he was warm and comfortable, which was sort of odd for hospital stays in his experience. But then he realized that Darcy was still curled up against him, her hair hiding her face and her soft breathing warm against his chest. She was disheveled and dirty and in a ripped dress, but Bruce thought this was the most beautiful he had ever seen her.

He thought back to when they had first met, when he was irrationally angry at her for being afraid of him, for not touching him like she did everyone else. He supposed, now, that he had got what he wanted. Darcy was comfortable around him, just like she was around everyone else.

He sighed, the old cliché of "be careful what you wish for" floating through his head. He could imagine her curled protectively around Clint in just the same way. Just because for _him _it felt…intimate, and terrifying, and exhilarating, didn't mean that's what it was for Darcy.

The rational part of him knew that she was a physical person, the rational part of him knew this was a _good _thing, knew that if this new and very welcome level of physicality really meant anything more to her, he couldn't accept it; couldn't take from her this simple thing that meant so much more to him.

He tried, the next day, he tried to just push reset on whatever had happened. He managed to avoid doing anything more than just resting his hands on her when he woke up to find her curled around him. He tried to pretend like nothing had changed, and the feel of her against his side wasn't imprinted on him like a brand, like it was just the casual comfort of friends.

He tried to be happy about it, to see it as simple comfort, something that he had been starved of for so long. But it was hard, because the nearness of her set his blood singing, warm and alive and intensely aware of her. And she was calm, and relaxed, and if anything like what he felt was running through her, she was playing it awfully close to the chest.

"How's the vacation going Brucey?" Tony, showing his usual impeccable timing, burst into the hospital room in the short half hour where Darcy had left to seek out something more exotic than hospital food for lunch.

"I'd prefer something more tropical next time," he said dryly.

"Looks like the company is pretty good," said Tony with a leer towards Darcy's pile of belongings scattering outwards from a duffel bag in the corner. "You guys finally pull your heads out of your asses?"

"No," Bruce answered without thinking, and then caught himself "I mean there's nothing to…there's nothing going on Tony, she's just being a friend. She'd do the same for you."

"She most certainly would not!" Tony exclaimed, "Pepper would eviscerate me."

"Tony," Bruce didn't think Tony even registered when he put on his frustrated tone any more, but it was worth a try, "I will agree that if either of us were involved with someone else, being this…close might be a problem, but there's nothing scandalous going on here. Just a lot of movie marathons."

"Oh it's not that I don't believe you," said Tony, flopping down in the chair set next to the bed, "At this point, I'm thinking that Darcy could stick her tongue down your throat and you'd argue she was checking for strep."

"Tony…"

"I'm just _saying_," said Tony, with a fairly uncharacteristically serious look, "that you guys are torturing yourselves for no reason. I can see you getting wound up tighter and tighter around her, Bruce."

"I know," he sighed looking down at his hands, "and that's exactly why I need to stay away from her. I should leave." It was more to himself than to Tony, "I should just get away from her right now. It's not safe."

"Or," said Tony in a long suffering tone, "you could tell the girl you love her and then unwind with some really spectacular sex. Orgasms are pretty relaxing, in my experience."

"Leaving aside the fact that the other guy makes all that kind of stuff a little more complicated than that," said Bruce tightly, "I'm sure she doesn't feel that way about me."

Tony threw up his hands, "I give up Bruce, I mean, the girl is sleeping in your bed. A girl doesn't sleep in your bed while she's nursing you back to health if she's not into you."

"Darcy, as you may have noticed," Bruce smiled a little, "is generally not like other girls."

"You can't honestly think that you're not important to her Bruce. I mean, tell me you know that much."

"I know," he agreed calmly, "and I guess it's possible that there's…there's a flirtation going on."

"Ah ha!" cried Tony triumphantly.

"But," Bruce interrupted, "I really don't think it's anything more than that on her end. I _hope _it's not, because I already need to put some distance between us. I never want to hurt her Tony, and if you're right, I will. One way or another."

Tony looked sad, "Honestly Bruce, and you know I love ya man, but you leave her for her own safety, you _are _going to hurt her, and that's going to be your fault, not the other guy's."

He sucked in a breath. It hit home, largely because it was the truth.

"Better than putting her in a position where the other guys hurts her, better than putting her in physical danger," he said tightly.

"And you really think the risk is that high?" said Tony skeptically, "you seem to be handling it just fine right now."

"Well I'm not," he cut out at Tony harshly, "it's stolen time Tony, and it's all I get, and it's ripping me apart because I know that I can't have it."

A silence hung over the two men for a long stretch.

"I wish," said Tony, "that you could trust yourself like I trust you. Like _she _trusts you. Because you deserve so much more than what you're letting yourself have." He stood up at that. "I'm bringing you back to the tower tomorrow," he said "we'll set you up where we can all keep an eye on you."

"Tony" he called after him before he left. Tony turned back to face him, "thank you."

Tony nodded silently and left the room.

He wasn't quite sure exactly what part of the conversation he was thanking him for. It would be nice to be out of the medical ward. The environment was sterile and cold, and he would feel safer with the others around when Darcy was so close. And part of him was thankful that Tony kept pushing his limits. He had changed a lot, he knew, since Tony Stark had started prodding at him, literally, on the helicarrier a few years ago. Most of that change was for the better.

But Tony didn't know his past, he didn't really know what the other guy was capable of, and what _he _was capable of. He wanted Tony's faith in him to be enough, more than anything.

But it just wasn't.

He felt strangely exhausted when he was finally stretched out on his temporary bed in the tower. He couldn't have walked more than ten steps all day, moving between beds and wheelchairs, but he felt like he had run a mile. On the plus side, the pain in his chest had faded to a dull twinge every now and again. He was allowed to start moving around on his own now, and he couldn't wait to run again. He missed the feeling of morning air on his face, and the rhythmic feel of the earth reaching up to meet him.

"Hey," Darcy's bright face appeared at his doorway, grinning at him. "How're you settling in, roomie?"

He smiled, propping himself up on his elbows, "pretty good…" he paused, "it's very….Tony." he gestured at the room, one wall of which was dominated by an enormous flat screen.

"Your place is definitely nicer," Darcy agreed bouncing onto the bed beside him. "You must miss it."

"Yeah," he said, a little wistfully, "there's nothing green here."

Darcy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not _me_" he flustered, "I mean, you know, nature…" he trailed of as Darcy collapsed against the pillow beside him, peals of laughter shaking the bed.

"Well," said Darcy as her laughter subsided, "it's still accurate. You look pretty relaxed for a guy who took a missile to the chest a week ago."

"I suppose so," he agreed, "actually I had a question for you about that."

"Shoot," Darcy fluffed up a pillow under her arm as she curled up on her side facing him.

"You were on a horse? I mean, I don't remember much, just bits and pieces, but I distinctly remember a horse."

"Yeah," she said, "those robo-knights were riding real horses, which was really weird if you stop and think about it. Maybe they were cheaper than robo horses?"

"So you thought running into the thick of things and stealing one was a good idea?" It hadn't actually occurred to him, until this moment, that Darcy must have put herself in considerable danger. It made him twitch, thinking of her recklessly running into trouble when he was working his hardest to keep her out of it. Alright, maybe not right this second, with her knees brushing against his leg and the smell of her shampoo drifting over to him, but soon, when he was better, stronger.

"Wasn't exactly an option," she said a little tightly, "there was a group of kids caught outside, and you guys were all busy elsewhere."

"But you…" he started.

"Get to decide when I can take a risk to help other people just like you do," she interrupted firmly.

He sighed, "You have a point." He conceded.

"Damn right I do," she said, but it was soft and sweet, like she knew how it felt to worry like that.

"It still doesn't answer my question about why you thought taking a horse was a good idea," he continued with a grin.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, "I guess we've never really talked about it, but I grew up on a ranch. Riding before I could walk and all that."

Bruce was surprised, because now that he thought about it, while they tended to range far and wide in their topics of conversation when they were running or in the lab, they'd generally stayed away from things like childhood and heartbreaks and the more personal parts of their past.

"That must have been nice, is that what your parents still do?" he asked, because now that the door was open, he wanted to _know._

"Yeah," she smiled comfortably, "I swear they love some of their horses more than me. But it seems to have worked out. It was a great way to grow up, anyways."

"You didn't get lonely? I suppose I've always pictured you as a city girl." He reached over to set the bangles on her wrist swinging as if to make his point, but really just an excuse to touch the paper thin skin at her wrist.

"It was lonely sometimes," she agreed, "but I learned to be pretty self-sufficient. You're right though, I am a city girl. I have no plans to go take over the family business. But it's really nice, sometimes, just to be away from everything. And horses are better company than you'd think. I miss it. Especially now, that I can't…" she trailed off, shaking her head as if to shake away the sadness. "You should visit some time," she said to him, "when everything settles down. You'd like it. It's very green." She grinned.

"Yeah," he said, a little sadly, knowing that when everything settled down, he would have to finally make good on his promise to himself and leave, "That'd be nice."

"So what about you," Darcy asked, "Where did you grow up?"

Bruce suddenly and viscerally remembered why he never wanted to go down this road with her.

"University campuses mostly," he tried to keep his voice light but final, "my father was a scientist and I spent most of my childhood around his work."

"That explains a lot about your love affair with science," Darcy teased. "What about your mom? Was she a scientist as well."

"No," he said, turning away and lying on his back, unable to keep his tone neutral.

"Bruce…" Darcy reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

"She died," he said finally. He swallowed heavily. Years and years had gone by, and these memories still never failed to bring the other guy crashing against his walls. He took a calming breath.

"I'm so sorry," she said, and then she pulled herself closer, resting her head on his shoulder and taking his hand in hers. "Were you very young?"

And it wasn't as hard to think about when he could squeeze her hand and feel her hair against his cheek.

"Old enough to remember every moment of it," he said thickly, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Did she get sick?" her voice was barely more than a whisper. He hadn't told this story to anyone, not in years, not since Betty.

And he _wanted _to tell her, if only because it would make it easier to leave once she knew.

"No," he said, "my father killed her."

He could feel her tense up, rigid beside him. She didn't say anything. What could you say to something like that?

"He was…he was angry a lot, and he took it out on me. She tried to stop him."

"Oh Bruce," her voice was muffled and he could feel hot tear seeping through the shoulder of his shirt. It felt good, in some way, to have someone else cry for his mother. To have _her _cry for his mother. The thought suddenly struck him that he didn't even know if his mother would have liked Darcy. He thought so. How could she not? But he'd never really had the chance to know her well enough.

"There was so much fear and anger in my house," he went on, "I think…I think that's why the radiation did what it did."

"You know," said Darcy softly, "I think it's perfectly okay to be angry when you have stuff like that to be angry about."

It made Bruce pause, because he'd never really thought about it that way.

"Slightly more difficult when getting angry is going to lead to a bit more than some broken plates or something," he tried to make light of it, but wasn't very successful.

"I'm glad you told me," said Darcy, ignoring his attempt at humor.

"Me too," and he was somewhat surprised to find that he meant it.

He was getting better and worse with every passing day.

He was up an about now, not quite ready to run, but moving around freely without too much effort.

And Darcy was there, every day, becoming more and more integral to him. The first time she had fallen asleep next to him while watching a movie, he wrote it off as an accident. When it kept happening, and somehow an extra toothbrush found its way into his room, he started to wonder… and when he started finding it hard to sleep until she was there, curled up beside him, he forced himself to stop. He didn't know what this was, or what it meant for her, but he knew it was going to have to end and damn him if he wasn't going to enjoy it until he couldn't any longer.

But it was harder and hard to keep his hands to uncontroversial places, and to ignore the way he wanted to run his hands into her hair and kiss her until he couldn't breathe, the way he wanted to bury himself in her and never leave.

It was almost a relief when Hill called him in to headquarters for an update.

The trip to SHIELD was the longest he'd taken since his injury, and so he sat down gratefully when Hill offered him a chair.

"Banner," she said without pre-amble, "We have a problem."

"Oh?" he was suddenly on alert, "Has the team found anything on the General's operation…"

"Not that," Hill interrupted him. She looked almost…sympathetic. It set alarm bells ringing in his head. "Unconnected surveillance we have planted in some military operations came across something I think you should see." She handed him a folder.

He started flipping through it with a growing horror. He felt his stomach sinking and the walls of the room closing in around him. Picture after picture of him and Darcy. An idiot could see the way he felt about her. It was clear as day on every page.

"Who…" his voice was graveled and thick and he couldn't finish the question. He felt like he was drowning.

"General Ross," said Hill shortly.

He stood up abruptly, tossing the folder back on the desk and running a hand through his hair. "Goddam son of a _bitch,_" he cursed under his breath.

"Ross isn't a serious concern right now," said Hill in a level tone, "but if he has this information…" she didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. _Anyone _could know exactly how best to get to him. And that was a risk for the whole team. And Darcy. _Darcy_.

He thought of every single time he pushed things a little farther, telling himself that he would quit tomorrow, that he would leave and keep her safe, just one more day, one more week of being close to her. He was stupid. He was a selfish and stupid man who deserved to be shot, not that it would do much good.

"Banner," Hill said carefully, "I don't want to know about your personal life. I just want you to be realistic about the risks and to inform the team about factors that could create weaknesses for them." There was a long pause, "And I think she deserves to know as well."

He was silent. But there was nothing running through his head, just an endless buzz of pain and anger and emotions barely clamped down. He grabbed the folder off the desk with a curt nod to Hill and spun on his heel. He slammed the door so hard it cracked off its hinges, but he didn't care. Enough was enough. He was going to put this right and he was going to do it _now_.

She wasn't there when he came back. She was in the gym with Clint, but her belongings were strewn across his room. A sweater over the back of a chair, her book by the bed, her glasses folder neatly on top of it.

He began methodically collecting them up and piling them neatly.

When he was done, he felt calmer, more in control. He stared out the window for what felt like an eternity until he heard the door open.

"Hey," she sounded cautious. He supposed he looked tense. "Everything alright?"

"I had a meeting with Hill today," he knew it was abrupt, but he had no idea how to do this. It was just going to come out however it came out.

"Oh?" she was keeping her distance, and he couldn't blame her.

He took a step towards her and handed her the folder of photos. He watched her face as she began flipping through. She didn't seem alarmed. It terrified him, the way she didn't seem to understand the danger she was in, that he had put her in.

"Are these from the General's operation?" she asked curiously, as if this didn't worry her much at all.

"Different General," said Bruce, willing her to understand, to realize that she wasn't safe standing here with him, "someone who's got a real problem with the Hulk."

"Well I quite like this one from New Years," he could tell by her tone that she was trying to lighten the mood, "I look pretty good."

"Darcy," if he had to spell it out, he would. Anything to give her a reasonable sense of self preservation. "I've been spending too much time with you if he's drawing a connection. It's too dangerous."

"Too dangerous for who Bruce," he could hear her getting defensive, the way she did when someone tried to tell her what she could and couldn't do. For once, just for once, he wished she wasn't so damn brave and _stubborn_.

"Darcy, please just…" he tried to reason with her.

"No," she hurled the word at him like a weapon. "No I won't _just_, Bruce," her cheeks were flushing with anger and her hands were balled into tight fists at her side. She looked wild, and it made him want to step away and also pull her into his arms, so he stayed where he was.

"This is bullshit," she crossed her arms in front of her defensively. "You can't just brush this aside like it's nothing. Whatever the hell is going on between us, it is not _nothing_ Bruce, and I can't handle this anymore."

He stopped, stunned with the sudden, intense, and almost laughable thought that was running through his head. _Oh god, Tony was right_. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, which was for the best, because she clearly wasn't finished.

"I can't lie next you, and have you around all day, and have you touching me without wanting more. And I can't go another day without telling you that you are all I think about, and you have filled up my world so completely, that it's hard to breathe. I don't know what this is for you, whether it's just comfort, or convenience, but I have to know, because having you so close, but not having you is killing me."

There was a moment where all he could hear was her breathing as he tried to wrap his head around the things she had just said. He latched onto the part that was easiest to process.

"Comfort?" he said, "Convenience? How can you possibly think that's all this is for me?" How could she not _know_? It seemed unimaginable to him that this wasn't just some universal constant, the way he felt about her. And he was crushed that he was learning just how wrong he was _now _when he had to walk away.

She was watching him, her face, for once, betraying nothing. And he supposed that was fair. She had just said a lot of world alteringly, incredible, _terrible _things and he was just standing there blinking at her.

"Darcy," he ran a hand through his hair, "If I had really believed for a second that you might feel…Christ." He couldn't find the words to tell her that he could never believe that anyone like her would find something of value in him. That he had though he was only hurting himself. He turned away in frustration, slamming his hands into the wall with more force than he had intended. "I was being stupid, and selfish, and I never should have let it get this far," he half muttered, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the wall.

"Let _what_ get this far," she sounded sad and hurt and uncertain. And he realized he hadn't _said _it, and it was past the point of doing any more harm than he had already done.

"You have to know," he paused, turning to her, "you have to know that you are just…god, I am crazy about you Darcy." The words left him feeling empty; relieved of a burden and hollow all at once.

"Then what is the _problem_?" The harsh, rasping, _hurt _in her voice hit him like a blow.

"I thought maybe I could…but I can't Darcy, I can't."

Can't have friends, can't fall in love, can't be close to you, can't can't can't. It was the story of his whole live, things he thought he could have, taken away from him. He should never have let himself get so comfortable here. He should have known this was coming.

"I'm too dangerous. I'm not… there are people out there who want to get to me. And after Hill talked to me today…and I've already put you in danger, just by spending so much time with you. If they ever knew how I felt…Darcy, the Hulk is dangerous. In so many ways. I'm dangerous. And I won't…I refuse to bring you into that. I promised you Darcy, I promised you that I would protect you."

He let it out in a rush, everything that had been weighing on him each time Tony pushed him to take action, each time they had grown a little closer, each time he had wanted more from her, and each time he had taken more than he should.

"You know," Darcy's voice, only moments ago so raw with emotion, was flat and calm, "You're so concerned about the harm the Hulk will do. But the other guy keeps saving my life Bruce. You're the one who's hurting me."

The way her voice cracked at the end, just before she turned and walked out of the room, cut him like a knife. He knew he had to do it. He knew it was right. But losing her, giving her up in the very moment he knew how she felt about him, it felt like the worst thing he had ever done.

He let out an animal cry, sending his fist through the wall in a shower of plaster. He could feel the other guy roaring to be let free, but he forced himself to pull it together. There was something he needed to do first.

Thankfully, in some respects, his cry had alerted the rest of the tower residents and they were gathered in the living room when he walked out.

"Bruce," Natasha spotted him first, "Let's get…"

"No," Bruce interrupted tightly, "I'll be fine. I just need to talk to all of you."

Natasha looked at him warily, but took a seat perched on the edge of the couch. The others turned to look at him, Tony pointedly raising his eyebrows at the plaster dust on his arm.

"What did you do to my wall?" he asked lightly.

"Punched a hole in it," he said directly, seeing no point in hiding it based on what he was about to do.

"Oh," said Tony, nonplussed by his direct response. "That's okay…"

"Bruce, what do you need to talk to us about," said Steve, somewhat sternly, "I saw Darcy run out…"

"We…argued," he said, and then he took a deep breath. He was a private man at the best of times. Spilling his pain out for all his teammates to see was like a nightmare, but this was about the security of the team, and Darcy. So he would do it.

"I had a meeting with Hill today, seems like General Ross has been running some surveillance on me."

The team looked alarmed, but he held up a hand, "That in and of itself isn't particularly worrying. If he acts it will be through official channels. It's that the surveillance shows pretty clearly the way I feel about Darcy."

There was a stunned silence. Finally, Clint said in a low undertone "I _knew _it."

Natasha elbowed him hard in the side and he winced.

"Your personal life is none of our business," said Natasha, glaring at Clint.

"It is when it opens the team up to vulnerabilities," said Steve carefully, "is that what this is about Bruce?"

"Yes," said Bruce, thankful that Steve had steered the conversation back on topic. "It's my fault. I should never have…I didn't know that she…" he fumbled, not wanting to share anything private about Darcy. "Well," he continued, "the larger point is that I need to create some distance, keep her safe. And she…disagreed with that opinion."

Natasha snorted and then composed herself, looking at Bruce apologetically.

"Sorry," she said, "but we heard some of her 'disagreeing' on the other end of the building."

"It's my fault," he repeated, it was the only thing he could think to say, the only thing he was totally and completely sure of. "I just don't want to be the cause of any…discord on the team." He said carefully. "And I want to make sure that Darcy is safe."

Steve nodded, "thank you for telling us," he said "we'll be sure to keep an eye open for any additional threats. And otherwise we'll stay out of it until you two work everything out." He looked pointedly at the rest of the team at that.

"Thank you," he said, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders, he slumped against the counter. Steve sent him a sympathetic smile and left the room, Natasha and Clint melting away after him.

"You alright," Tony approached him a bit cautiously.

"No," he said darkly.

"What _happened_," he asked, concern clear on his face.

"I knew I never should have let things go this far," he said bleakly. "I got too close, I put her in danger, from myself, and my enemies. And…she was so _hurt _Tony. I had to…I _have _to leave, to get some distance. But the look on her face, and what she said…" he trailed off, vaguely aware that he didn't really want to be talking about it, but somehow unable to stop.

"Well, yeah," said Tony, but it wasn't unkind, "a girl will tend to be pretty hurt when a man she is busy falling in love with suddenly tells her to stay away from him."

"I never meant to hurt her like that, I really didn't think that she could ever…" the end of the sentence was choked off, the thought hurt too much to even finish.

"I know," Tony reached out to clap a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what I can do."

Bruce thought about it for a minute, and then looked up. "I need to go home," he said.

"I'll drive you," said Tony, "and I'll get your stuff packed up and sent over tonight."

When Bruce finally got back to his house in the woods, the stress and pain, and frustration of the day was pressing him further and further away from control. He locked himself into containment, his harsh breathing echoing oddly against the glass walls. He wanted to cry or scream or just let the other guy run free, but he didn't. He just sat there, watching the stars come out and the moon track across the sky, until his breathing calmed and his heart rate slowed, and a sense of calm and acceptance grew closer. He was sitting there when the sun came up. He was sitting there when the heat of the day started to make the glass structure uncomfortably warm.

He was sitting there when Tony flew up in the suit, tossed back the helmet, pressed the intercom and told him: Darcy was missing.


	9. You know the Truth is a Seed

And now as I would judge and say you're aloof

but you know the truth is a seed, you know what you need is a conflagration.

'Cause when I see the blood and the bits of your broken tooth

it gives me the proof that I need, it's the proof that you bleed.

It's a revelation.

Yeah it's a revelation, it's a revelation.

- Andrew Bird (Mx Missile Proof)

He could never seem to remember the transition, going from the monster to the man, so when he found himself kneeling in soft turf, nothing but rolling hills and power lines as far as he could see, he had no idea how he'd got here, whether he'd been here long, where _here _was. He was used to it by now, though, and he ran through the same routine he always did; tracking the last thing he remembered first.

That was easy. Darcy.

Darcy had been taken. Immediately the panic and fear began to spiral sluggishly through his veins, his body exhausted but nonetheless ready to act.

The next step was cataloguing his surroundings, reading the clues. He knew the Hulk by now, knew that if he had run this far, the fight must be over. But he could still feel the other guy gripping at a knot of rage deep in his belly that hadn't yet dissipated. That was unsettling.

He looked down, and the situation quickly went from unsettling to horrifying. He was half covered in blood, and none of it seemed to be his. He wasn't injured, he could tell that much. The pieces clicked together into what felt like an inescapable conclusion.

"Shit,"

He was vaguely aware that his mouth was still moving, a bewildering flood of disbelief pouring out of him almost unconsciously. The feeling coursing through him was indescribable. He was breathtakingly lost, set reeling, his thoughts skipping around madly. He wondered if anywhere could be far enough to run this time, he hated himself for staying this long, for letting this happen.

He wondered if even the Hulk could drown in enough water.

"Bruce?"

He felt himself freeze as a tentative voice called out from behind him. A voice he would know anywhere. He wondered if he had gone mad. The fire in his veins froze in a heartbeat, crystalizing him in the most horrifying moment of his life thus far. But only for a moment.

He sprang to his feet, electrified, needing to know if this was real. "Darcy?"

It was a question that was answered as soon as he turned and saw her face, dirty and bruised and pale and _alive. _

"Darcy," he felt like he was caught up in a whirlwind, his body in turmoil as he struggled to keep up with the situation. A switch had been flipped, from panic to relief, from despair to hope, from emptiness to a growing hunger. There was no way he could stop himself from going to her, from putting his hands on her, rougher than he intended, just desperate to feel her warm and solid under his fingers, feel her breath against his neck.

His intellect was following somewhere a few steps behind his instinct, and he realized that her blouse was sticky with blood where it pressed against his chest. He immediately zeroed in on her, where his hand rested against the soft curve of her hip.

"You're bleeding," he feared for a moment that her safe return to him was a cruel illusion. "Where are you hurt?" he was struck for a moment with the memory of the first time he touched her, his hand against her bare skin under her shirt at the trails behind SHIELD, the feel of her from that moment forward indelibly imprinted on him. He pulled up her shirt, this time with far more conviction, but he didn't find the fatal gut wound he feared, only the gentle yield and smooth planes of her belly, trembling ever so slightly as his fingers brushed against it.

"It's not mine," she was only verifying what he already knew, but she sounded so small and lost, so not herself, that he almost didn't believe her. "Bruce, I'm fine, I'm okay."

"You're okay?" he tried to take a breath. She was standing here, not dead, the blood wasn't hers, whatever he had done, it hadn't been to _her_. "You're okay." He repeated it, to make it feel a little truer, to calm the feeling racing through him.

"Darcy, I thought you were..." he couldn't even say the words, the though clawed at his throat, making it hard to breath, making him dizzy. He pressed his hands to her hair, curling his fingers through it like it was an anchor.

"I'm not," she sounded more solid, more present as she wrapped her hands around his, pulling them between the two of them, pressed between their ribs so he could feel her heart beat, "I'm not."

It was like alchemy, all of his frantic focus, the rush of fear and adrenaline that was heating his blood, drawn like a magnet. The shift from wanting her safe to just _wanting _almost imperceptible yet inescapable.

She was safe, she was here and alive, and after the last time they had spoken, he didn't think he was ever going to get to touch her again, to be near her. So he send a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening to forgive for him being so selfish, and then gave in to the wanting that had been pulling at him for months, in this moment unable to deny himself any longer.

He threaded his fingers into her hair, his hand cupping the curve of her neck and pulled her to him, the feeling of her pressed against him as his other hand clung to her hip reassuring him in a way nothing else could that she was alive.

And he kissed her. He kissed her like he had wanted to at Christmas under the mistletoe but had held himself back, like he had wanted to at New Years, heedless of who might have been watching, like he had wanted to every night she fell asleep beside him and every morning he woke up tangled in her arms.

He was so wrapped up in the feel of her mouth, opening readily under him, the way her hips lined up against his, pressing into his growing erection, the way the curve of her ass fit under his hand, that he hardly noticed that she wasn't really kissing back until she _was._

And it was like being caught in a hurricane.

Somewhere low in her throat, she made a noise that struck him like an anvil, sending a spear of lightening hot desire coursing through him and making it very hard for him to think. Her hands dug into his shoulders, as if trying to pull him closer, and he was only too happy to oblige, wrapping his arms tighter around her in an almost painful grip, groaning into her mouth as her hips jerked and pressed against his growing erection.

She pulled away with a sharp intake of air as one hand pressed into the crease under her ass. He could feel the heat of her core against his fingers through her thin cotton pants. He tried to distract himself, feeling like an out of control teenager as he licked and sucked at her neck, taking a base satisfaction in leaving his mark on her ivory skin. _Mine_, he thought to himself. _Mine._

He knew, he _knew _he shouldn't be doing this. A dangerous situation and a narrow escape didn't change things, and in fact probably made it more important for him to stay away, especially now that he knew that it wasn't only his heart on the line. He knew he ought to feel guilty, to pull away. But as his thoughts drifted past the idea, he couldn't dredge up an attachment to it, couldn't find any feeling other than a bone deep sense of _right_ and _yes _and _more_.

He wanted to touch more of her, wanted all of her laid out before him, present and perfect and his. He was almost careless of his strength, knowing better than most that Darcy wasn't breakable and wouldn't appreciate being held like glass. So he held her like she was necessary to him. He held her like he would never let go.

He was fascinated by the way the curve of her ribcage fit underneath his hands, the way the weight of her breasts pressed against his thumbs with exquisite softness. It was like the best kind of science, that thrill of discovery and the inescapable focus of progress, as he explored the skin of her neck, the soft give of the upper curve of her breast under his mouth, the firm weight of it when he finally dared to take it in his hand. He catalogued the noise that escaped between her lips as he pressed his thumb against her nipple, recorded the way the skin tightened under his touch.

Experiments must be repeated to gain reliable and predictable data, so he did it again.

Darcy, somewhat predictably, had no time for his scientific method, as she took him by surprise in pulling off her shirt roughly. It left a smudge of red across her cheek. He knew this should have been unnerving at the very least, but there was something inevitable about it, how she would claim him through blood and conflict. This was something that wasn't about soft words and romance, but blood calling to blood.

And yet he couldn't stop himself from whispering to her the things he had been keeping inside for far too long. He told her that she was beautiful, like a prayer against her skin, and it felt like the best kind of sin when he took her peaked nipple in his mouth through the thin fabric of her bra. He would happily burn for this.

He almost didn't notice the trajectory of her hand until her felt her slender fingers pressing again him through the fabric of his shorts. Already harder than he could ever remember being, he jerked uncontrollably at the feel of it, pressing himself, hot and hard, into her hand.

It was easy as falling, once her legs were wrapped around him. He felt like gravity was pulling him inexorably forward with surprising force. He felt the half rotten wood of the barn shudder under the force of it as he pressed her against the wall, his mouth on her breast, his heart in his throat and his body obeying a natural law, far beyond his control.

His focus was unbroken, any thought of pulling away, of distance was impossible. A line connected them, had for a long time, if he was honest. And she was pulling on it; pulling as he laid her down in the straw, her hands setting fire to his skin, her leg locking around his like a puzzle piece, forbidding him to pause.

"Bruce," she had said his name plenty of times before, but never like this. It was a command and a prayer and a curse. It hit him like a fist, and he abandoned himself to it.

He swore, pressing his hips into hers, feeling her searing heat against his erection, his mouth finding hers with bruising force. All the frustration and turmoil he had been coiling up inside himself sprung open. Many times, he had thought about taking his time, memorizing every inch of her. But time was passing in fits and starts. He rushed to pull his shorts off and toss them aside, but time hitched and stopped as he felt her move under his hand. Impatient as she tried to rid herself of her pants, but locked in a moment as he pressed against her, a layer of thin cotton all that remained between them.

When he finally, _finally _had his hands on her, his fingers curling into her hot, wet core and his tongue pressed against her clit, it wasn't the relief he had thought it would be. Instead the feel of her, the knowledge that she was wet and ready for _him, _that the sounds being drawn from her throat were for _him_, was driving him crazy. God how he wanted to loose himself inside of her.

"Bruce!" his name on her lips and her hands in his hair, and he couldn't hold back any more. He paused, needing to know she was there with him, in the same moment.

"Is this…?"

"Yes," and he almost grinned, the demanding and impatient note in her voice familiar and yet entirely new as her hands grasped at him.

This moment, though, sliding into her tight heat. That was far more than he could possibly have imagined. It wasn't just the way they fit, her knee locked against his side, their hips sliding together easily, her walls stretched tight around him. It was a feeling of completion, of intimacy they he had so long denied himself and wanted for so long; and not from just anyone, but only from Darcy.

Her fingers on his back and the sweat of her skin against him was almost too much, and he paused, letting his head fall to her shoulder. He tried to ask her, tried to tell her, he wasn't sure what. Her response wasn't much more coherent but somehow clear to him. He pulled himself out of her once, slowly, and it felt so good that it almost hurt. He pressed back into her with a force that surprised him, but the way her hips canted to meet him and the way her breath left her lips in plosive little burst of pleasure told him it was right.

He lost himself, pouring out all of the things he felt in the snap of his hips and the press of his hands and her name on his lips again and again, pulling her closer, wanting more and more.

He watched her carefully, his eyes locked on hers. So he saw it, the moment the world shattered behind her eyes and it was his name that she screamed, his back that would bear the marks of her nails, his cock caught in the flutter and twitch of her orgasm.

He was gone, lost to her in so many ways as he gripped her hips, too hard but he couldn't be gentle. It felt like he was being turned inside out as he spent himself inside her, the salt tang of her skin bitter in his mouth as they collapsed together.

The moment that the adrenaline began to fade and his breathing steadied, the overwhelming _this is a bad idea _feeling that he had successfully been ignoring roared back like a freight train. He had done it, thrown all caution and good sense to the wind. He had sex with Darcy. He had _fucked _her. He had fucked her without a condom.

A sinking feeling in his stomach was making him wonder if he was going to make things even worse by vomiting.

"Bruce..." Darcy's voice was soft and lazy and intimate and made him feel exponentially worse.

"We should..." he gestured towards her scattered clothes, "Someone could show up."

He saw the worry in her eyes, and the break in her gait as she walked away from him. What had he done? How could he have, only minutes ago, let himself get so caught up that he could possibly have done this to her.

He watched her gingerly pick up clothes still marked by the violent events of the day.

How could he have taken advantage.

He managed to pull on his shorts, still feeling incredibly exposed. He turned his back to her and walked outside, as if a little distance would make things easier. As if anything would fix this.

He heard her approach behind him, and it took all he had not to pull away when her arms slid around him.

The way she touched him, and what he was about to do….

"Do you want to talk about this now?" he could feel the softness of her lips against his back, "or just let it sit until later."

"Darcy," he paused, schooling his body into obedience to what he knew was right, "There's...there's nothing to talk about."

There was a long silence, her fingers cold and stiff against him. And then she pulled away violently.

"_How can you say that_?" the anger in her voice was like a lash. He would willingly submit. He had earned every mark she wanted to lay on him.

"This was..." _a mistake, _he meant to say. But he found, looking into her eyes, filling with tears and betrayal, that he _couldn't. _Instead, the truth came pouring out. "God, I can't regret this Darcy, even though I should. Even though I never should have let myself...Christ, Darcy I didn't even use protection."

"Don't you treat me like I wasn't involved in this decision Bruce, don't you dare. I was right there with you. Besides, I'm not stupid, I'm on the pill." She snapped back at him without hesitation, never giving him an inch.

He loved that about her, the way she never backed down. He ran a hand through his hair, willing himself to continue. "It doesn't change anything."

"You are the most incredibly stubborn man I have ever met," she was poised for a fight. And god how he hated the idea of fighting with her. "Why doesn't it change anything?"

But he would, if he had to, if it meant keeping her safe. "I won't put you in danger," he hoped he sounded more certain than he felt, "I won't be a target on your back."

She wasn't swayed. "That ship has already sailed Bruce," she said, like it was an argument they had had a thousand times already. And what he wouldn't give to build up that kind of history with her. "I've had a target on my back since New Mexico." She went on unflaggingly, but in a grim reminder of exactly the life he _didn't _want for her. "And maybe I didn't choose to get drawn into this life, but I'm choosing to stay. I've got target for Clint and Natasha, and Tony and Steve and Thor and even Jane on me already. You don't get to decide if I wear yours."

She sounded so sure of herself, and so much older than her years, that he almost felt himself being swayed. "If it was just that...but I can't Darcy, the way you make me feel, it's...it's out of control, which is..." He found himself stuttering the beginnings of truths he wanted to keep from her. Things he wanted to keep from everyone. Things that he didn't want to believe, but believed right to the core.

"How do you think that is a bad thing Bruce? I think we have just proved that out of control can be really, really good." He couldn't pull away as she pressed against him, the sensation new but somehow so natural.

"But the other guy..." it was a deflection, she was muddling his thoughts, just with her nearness.

"I've been handling him just fine for months now. Sometimes I think he likes me more than you do. It's a complication Bruce, nothing more." He could feel a twinge of exasperation building at her stubborn denial of the fears that ran his life. And he decided there was nothing for it but to spell it out clearly for her. It would be easier for her to hate him that to drag out this torture. Maybe.

It was barely above a whisper when he spoke, hiding against her hair even as he aimed to push her away. "What if a friend of yours told you that there was this guy, and he was usually fine, but sometimes he lost control, and got violent. Would you tell her to stay? Would you tell her to fight for him?"

He could hear it in her voice as she pulled away from him. "Is that really what you think about yourself?" that realization of exactly who he was. "Is that who you think you are?"

"It's who my father was." And there it was. The worst of him, laid out before her. It felt cathartic, in a way. Like a drowning man giving in to the undertow and letting it pull him down.

"I think," she said, in a tone far closer to sadness than the fear or disgust he had expected "That you don't really know yourself all that well Bruce. You don't know what everyone around you sees, what I see. You are worth all of the risks and complications that you bring with you, and I think they are a lot less dire than you do. But apparently what I think doesn't matter to you enough."

He tried to speak, to find the flaw in her reasoning, he knew it must be there. But she interrupted him.

"I get that it's scary Bruce. You don't think that it scares me? The way I feel about you, how you have the power to hurt me like this? But it's scary, letting someone in like that. That's not about you or the other guy, that just _is_. And I don't see how we could hurt each other any more by being together than we have being apart."

He was confused. She wasn't pushing him away. He couldn't parse the meaning of it. It was like running an experiment and getting coal again and again and then suddenly, gold.

"But I can't do this with you anymore. So you need to make a decision. I want to be with you, but if you don't want that, I need to walk away before I let you ruin me."

He could barely think straight, but it still felt like a knife in the gut to see her cry because of him.

"I just want you to be happy," he whispered.

"Well you're doing a bang up job," the defensive hurt in her voice was pushing through the confusion. There was a thought bubbling up to the surface, but he couldn't grab on to it before she waved him away.

"Just, don't right now. Leave me alone. I need you to give me some space until you figure your shit out okay?"

Figure his shit out? He sat there, watching her pointedly not look at him, for a long time. If he could figure his shit out for her, he would. God, he would. But there were established pathways in his brain laid down by all of his _shit_. And they led directly to violence and anger and raging green destruction.

He couldn't pay attention to the conversation Natasha was having with Darcy as they flew home. He couldn't take his eye off of her. She still wasn't looking at him.

But he had told her. He had laid out in front of her why he was so dangerous. Not just the obvious threats that she tossed aside so casually, capricious with her life in a way that terrified him. But he had shown her his rotten core, the poison laid down in the roots that could never be drawn out. And she had said to him _I want to be with you._

He didn't understand it. He didn't understand what she could still see in him. And maybe…just maybe…he should try to figure that out before he walked away from her.

It was a simple thought, and obvious once it came to him. But for a man who had spent years firm in the belief that only _he_ could see himself, that the outside world had to be pushed away, the thought that someone else might see him more clearly than he saw himself rattled the very foundations of the earth.

When he sat down for the debrief, Hill got through a total of three questions, which he answered mechanically, before she stood up and walked out without a word. He barely remarked upon it. He sat unflinchingly still, but his mind was pinging around like a pinball. Could he have been so wrong about himself? Could he have wasted all this time, all these _years _running away from nothing but a ghost?

He barely noticed when the door swung open.

"Jesus Christ, Bruce!" ah, Tony. Of course. "You look like hell."

He shrugged.

"And is that…Bruce, is that a _hickey _on your neck?" Tony Stark sounded genuinely shocked, and that was saying something. Bruce looked up, but didn't answer.

"Uh, wow. Look. You're going to have to cut it out with this catatonic bullshit Bruce, because you are legitimately freaking me out right now."

"Sorry," his voice sounded harsh to his own ears, but he couldn't care. "I'll try to be a bit louder as my whole life falls apart."

Tony looked a little bit relieved to hear him speak, but not much.

"Surely it can't be as bad as all that," Tony tried carefully. "Everyone got home in one piece, the good guys win, Darcy will hopefully call three kidnappings a full set, and life can go back to normal."

Bruce decided that the easiest course was just to end this now so he could be alone.

"I had sex with Darcy." He said flatly.

He was distantly satisfied that even Tony couldn't think of a quick response to that.

"uhh…whaaa" Tony made shocked and confused noises for a moment before pulling himself together. "Well….isn't that…good? I mean, was it good? Or was it terrible. Is this about terrible sex?"

"Tony," Bruce cut him off. "This isn't about sex. This is about me being too dangerous for her. I should never have…" he trailed off, that sick feeling of self-hatred chocking him again.

"Well, shit happens," said Tony, seeming to gain control of himself again, "did you two talk…after?"

"Yes."

"About….?" Tony prompted.

Bruce sighed heavily. At least Tony was consistently good at making him so exasperated that he forgot to be upset. "I told her that it was…that it didn't change anything. I'm no good for her."

"I bet you she just _loved _that," said Tony, almost gleefully. "She tore you a new one, didn't she?"

"Well, yeah. I guess." Bruce agreed, "she said…she said I didn't know myself very well. That…" he could feel emotion and confusion and just the tiniest bit of something like hope welling up in his throat. "Tony," he swallowed heavily, "she thinks…she really thinks I'm a good man. She's seen me at my worst...and, god, I told her the very worst things about me. And she still wants…" he was somewhat surprised to find himself unable to continue as a sob tore its way out of his chest.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it sure and comforting.

"You're not your father Bruce," his voice was sure and confident. "Just like I'm not mine. Life dealt you a real shit hand, and the things you have done with it anyways…" he paused for a moment. "You deserve to be happy."

Tony's voice sounded thick and heavy. It wasn't often the other man spoke with such sincerity, and Bruce had always tried to respect it and really listen when he did.

"What if…" he scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to center himself, "what if I don't know how?"

There were problems that even Tony Stark couldn't solve, so he was still feeling rattled and off balance, if a bit calmer, when he made it back to his house in the woods.

He went through the familiar routine of making a cup of tea. He sat by the window, a blank notebook open in front of him. He tried to will himself to really _think _about this, but there was no equation he could solve.

He tried to make a list, his concerns, the dangers, pros and cons. But the only thing that made it on to the paper was _Darcy_.

It felt to him as if the writing on the page had conjured her presence as he opened his door to find her standing there.

"Darcy," her presence and his raw nerves made him feel as if he had the wind knocked out of him, "what are you doing here?"

She handed him a folder, and he took it uncomprehendingly. "This is my transfer package," her voice was steady and even and he could feel to floor spiraling away beneath his feet. He tried to move calmly as he reached a hand out to clutch the doorframe. There was a faint buzzing in his ears and he thought maybe he missed part of what she was saying. "Two days from now, either I stay or I go. So turn it in, and we don't have to have a messy goodbye, and we won't cause any rifts in the team, and we can just go on with our lives or," she paused, "you can tear it up and find me."

He was having a lot of trouble processing, but it felt…it felt _bad_.

"I hope this isn't goodbye," the word _goodbye _finally struck a chord in him and he looked up at her sharply, as if he could bind her to the spot and will her to stay. "But if it is..." the press of her lips against his was whisper soft, too fast for him to even react "I hope you find what you need someday."

And then she was gone without a backward glance. He watched her until the trees swallowed her up.

He stood there for a long time after that.

He had spent so long telling himself that he was going to leave, telling himself that what he really wanted, what was _best _was to be away from her. But the reality of it, the thought of not seeing her on the trails in the morning, of never watching her bounce around the lab with surprising efficiency, of never watching another movie or sharing another drink or stealing another touch… every fiber of his being rebelled against the thought.

There was movement in the trees again. She was coming back. She couldn't leave. He had to tell her… He was moving towards her, almost within reach before he discovered it wasn't Darcy at all.

"Betty?"

"Hi Bruce," she looked uncomfortable and was carrying a bottle of whisky.

"What…?"

"Tony sent me," she interrupted his inevitable question, "and this." She hoisted the bottle. "Can I come in?"

He nodded mutely and led her into his living room. He saw her glance at the photo of the two of them that he still kept on a shelf and a little of the tension seemed to melt away.

"Tony thought maybe I could help," she began in a stilted tone as Bruce poured the whisky, out of habit more than any desire for a drink.

"Help?" he was floundering. Since she came back, he and Betty had never talked about anything beyond their work. They had been tiptoeing around their past with moderate success, and now she was tramping right into his crisis with another woman.

It was disconcerting.

"He said that maybe you needed some clarification about some things," she took a deep breath. "He's really nosey."

"Yeah," said Bruce with a tight smile, "but he usually means well and is surprisingly good at getting results most of the time."

"Well, I guess I'll just…uh, follow his advice then." She took a healthy pull of the whisky. "It wasn't the Hulk, you know." She was avoiding his gaze.

"Wasn't…what?" Bruce was moving past uncomfortable to genuinely confused.

"Why I left you, it wasn't the Hulk."

And now uncomfortable came roaring back.

"Oh," and after that had rolled around in his head for a moment. "But if it wasn't…"

"It was you Bruce," she still wasn't looking at him, but the words came tumbling out now. "I wanted to help you, but you just kept pulling away. It was like you thought you could just run away from all your problems and that would mean you'd never have to _fix _them. But you ended up just running away from _me_." He could hear the hurt lingering in her voice. He knew that she was happily married, and it was a long time ago, but he also knew, better than most, that old wounds run deep.

"I can't just _fix _the other guy," he said gently. "He never goes away."

"Well of course not," said Betty in a matter of fact tone, "he _is _you. And from what I remember, when you embrace that part of you, it's controllable; helpful, even. That's not really the problem I was talking about."

Bruce was genuinely floored.

"Even before that, there was always a part of you that you kept hidden from me. You always walked away from an argument rather than working through it. Any time we disagreed over something that couldn't be worked out on a chalkboard, you would just jump ship. You never really trusted me with yourself. And maybe you were afraid you'd end up like your father and maybe you were afraid of what evil you're capable of, but what about all the things that make you ten times the man he was? What about all the _good _you are capable of doing. Maybe if you had trusted me and trusted yourself a bit more, you could have found out."

She stopped abruptly, like the pressure that had been building up had been released.

"Our chance is over," she continued after a while, "I just want to be clear that it's not about that…this is about you Bruce. You have a second chance. Darcy…" she paused "She's nothing like me." She smiled thinly, "and maybe that's a good thing. Don't push her away. Don't force her to get out before you break her heart too." She smiled again, but it was sad.

"Betty," he reached out a hand and grabbed hers before she could stand up. "I'm so…" _sorry _just didn't seem to be enough. He had no idea of what he had done to her until this moment.

"I know Bruce," she said kindly. "It's okay. I'm just glad I finally got the nerve to say my peace." The corner of her mouth kicked up in a little grin, "even if it took Tony Stark to make me say it."

After she left, Bruce lingered over his glass of whisky for a long time.

He was stuck on the idea that it wasn't the other guy who ruined his relationship with Betty, wasn't because he was inherently dangerous, it was _him_. It was because he was so out of touch with how normal human relationships were supposed to function. For some reason, the thought was making him inexplicably happy, and he couldn't figure out why.

He dropped his head into his hands. "I'm an idiot," he said it out loud. And then he paused. "I'm an idiot!" he said it again, and it sunk in.

Yes, in some ways he was pretty out of the ordinary. He had a shitty childhood, his scientific arrogance had turned him into a giant green rage monster, sometimes he saved the world. But in other ways, maybe even most ways, he was just an idiot guy who couldn't figure out how to get over his fears and _trust _someone. And idiot guys with trust issues got to have real relationships all the time. Just look at Tony and Pepper!

He looked at the clock. 12am. Far too late to go find Darcy.

He didn't think he was going to be able to sleep. He felt electric.

But somehow he was out like a light when his head hit the pillow, his sleep easier and more restful than he could ever remember.

He forced himself to wait until he knew she'd be well into her run. He didn't want to steal that from her, and he was hoping that her morning routine wouldn't be the first thing on her mind once he said what he had to say.

When he finally saw her rounding the last bend, he watched as she slowed and approached him, itching to reach out to her, but knowing he had a lot of ground to make up first.

"Hi," he said. It felt silly, going through the pleasantries.

"Hi," she responded, warily, which he supposed she had every right to be.

"You were right," he said, eager to jump to the heart of the matter, desperate to get to the other side.

"About what exactly?" she raised an eyebrow at him. It looked a bit like a challenge.

"I'm terrified," he said, more than ready to meet it. It felt like flying to get the words out, "and I'm an idiot."

"Yeah," she said, "you are." She still looked skeptical, but he had practiced what to say, and nothing on earth was going to stop him now.

"I actually…I talked to Betty last night."

"Oh?" he couldn't blame her for the tone in her voice at that, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling anyways as he went on.

"Yeah, turns out she didn't break up with me because of the other guy, but because of me. Because I was..."

"An idiot?" Darcy suggested acidly.

"Yeah," he agreed evenly.

"And this is a good thing?" The euphoria of the self-discovery and the relief at saying it was beginning to wear off in the face of her cold indifference.

"I've just," he hadn't planned this far ahead, so he just let himself talk, taking a leap and trusting her to catch him. "I've let the other guy keep me so separate from people. I've been so sure that no one deserved that in their life, that no one wanted it. Pushing people away, keeping a safe distance, became the easiest thing to do. But I don't _want_ to push you away Darcy, I don't know if I can. The thought of not seeing you every day..." he broke off, the feeling he had when she had told him last night that she was leaving lingering like a bitter echo, "and I guess talking to Betty made me realize that it's_ me_ standing in the way, not the other guy at all."

He took a breath, old habits dying hard, but then took her transfer papers out of the folder he carried with him. _All in, Banner _he told himself. "And I am sick of walking away from things that I want." He ripped the packet in half. "Stay. Stay with me."

It was exhilarating, laying himself so open in front of her. He felt like he finally understood in a visceral way what had been missing between him and Betty. He had never made himself this vulnerable to her.

A long moment passed, and the exhilaration started to bleed into panic.

"Okay" said Darcy shortly. "I'm going to take a shower."

He was left gaping as she walked away.

It was like that feeling of walking down stairs in the dark and thinking you had reached the last one, but your foot found air instead of the floor. It took him a moment to catch himself.

And then he felt so incredibly stupid that he felt sick.

He had spent months, unintentionally but unequivocally, leading her on. Unaware of her feelings for a long time, he must have shown such intent, such interest from her point of view. And then he had essentially rejected her, slept with her and then told her he didn't want to be with her. And maybe, caught up in the moment, she had thought she still wanted him. But the reality of it, of being with someone who is even capable of treating her like that…Well, it was probably better that she walked away, wasn't it?

But Bruce found, now that he had finally allowed himself to imagine having something he wanted, being happy, that it _wasn't _better.

He hadn't been able to stop wanting her when he refused to consider that having her could be possible. And now, now when he thought maybe he could be good for her, make her happy. Now she was finally giving up on him.

It would be funny, in an ironic sort of way, if it wasn't so sad.

He could feel the utter loss of it welling up in him, tears tracking down his face. But he scrubbed them hastily aside. He walked quickly into the building, desperate to lose himself in some work before he did something hopeless like find her and beg.

He couldn't go to his lab, there was too much of her in that place. Instead he went to an unused space several floors up. But he couldn't force himself to concentrate on work. Instead he just sat there at the lab bench, mentally replaying every memory he had of her, all the times he should have just kissed her, told her how he felt, and damned the consequences.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice the door open, didn't realize someone else was there until she spoke.

"Bruce," Darcy's voice was breathless and urgent. He looked up at her, immediately looking to see that she was alright. No alarms were going off, but maybe the team was needed?

And then all his thoughts flew out of his head and her hands were on his face and she was kissing him. She was kissing him, and for the first time, they were both _there. _They were both in this together.

His first coherent thought as he desperately pressed her to him, a hand tangling in her hair, was _I get to have sex with Darcy again._ And then _I'm going to get to have sex with Darcy A LOT_.

The caveman programming ran deep.

But the sounds she was making as she met the force of his kiss and the way her hands felt on his skin was driving all thoughts of other kisses, other touches, out of his head and all he could think was _Darcy Darcy Darcy_, like a mantra or a prayer.

"Wait wait wait," for a moment, he didn't process that she was speaking, only that there was distance between them, and he gripped the soft yield of her thigh, pulling her back, refusing to be without her.

"I have words," she spoke again, and she sounded hazy, and he looked at her and her lips were swollen and her eyes were shining and her mouth was curved up in the hint of a smile.

He finally processed that she might be right, and they probably did have some things to talk about. He couldn't help but smile at the way she was going about it though. "You have words?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes fixated on his mouth like was having a hard time convincing herself to keep talking "important ones."

The way she was looking at him, and the way the juncture of her thighs was pulled tight against his growing erection was not helping him listen to her, so he released his grip on her thigh, stifling a groan as her hips slid away from him. He was utterly unwilling to put any more distance between them. But she seemed just as reluctant to move away.

Her hand cupped his face, and her thumb brushed his cheek and the look in her eyes when she spoke almost stopped his heart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I just walked away."

A lifetime of avoiding honest and emotional conversations made it difficult, and he took a moment, pulling her hand to him and pressing an exploratory kiss to her palm. "It's alright," he said, barely above a whisper "I probably deserved it."

"No," she said, and he was looked up in surprise at the conviction in her tone. "That is not how this works Bruce." He felt like saying to her that he had _no idea _how these things worked, but as if she could read his mind, she went on.

"I just, I was hurt when you pushed me away, and I was so prepared to do the hard thing and go, and then you were saying all these perfect and amazing things, but I couldn't just turn off my anger right away. You may have noticed," she smiled up at him, "that my first instincts are sometimes kind of terrible."

It was new, and scary, but also kind of wonderful to listen to her share honest things when they weren't fighting. It made it so much easier for him to respond.

"You had every right to be angry," he took a breath, the nearness of her, the connection of their hands making it easier to make his fears concrete, even though there was a part of him that still worried that by saying them out loud, he would make them real. "You still do. I thought maybe I'd waited too long, or that you'd come to your senses and were going to go anyways."

"Stop that," she said, and her voice was sure and dismissive, "I am in full possession of my senses," and the way she was looking at him, he couldn't do anything but believe her, believe that she _wanted _to be right here with him, "I know what I'm getting into, okay?"

"Okay," the feeling was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but smile foolishly at the joy of it.

"The point is that rule number one, from this day forward, is that I promise I will go against all my terrible instincts and say words first, walk away if I need to second." There were rules posted to the filing cabinet in the lab, there were rules posted on the wall by the potentially flammable substances, there was a great big list of rules for Tony posted in the lab even though he didn't work there, so of course she would have rules for this as well.

He wanted to smile, but if there were going to be rules, there were some he needed to add, even though he desperately wanted to pretend, just for this moment, that he was a man like any other.

The thought of it sobered him, and he clutched her other hand as he said, "Then I get to make rule number two, right?"

"Yeah," said Darcy, "Fair's fair."

"No matter what, if I say you need to walk away, you have to walk away." It was difficult to say, because he didn't want to interrupt the easy joy of the moment, but he had to know, he had to know she would stay safe.

"Bruce, I..." she started to object, a frown creeping across her face, but he plowed forward.

"I mean it, I promise you that the best thing you can do for me if I feel like I'm losing control is get out of the blast radius. You have to promise me that." He willed her to understand, to know that he needed above all else, to know that she was safe.

He watched her eyes search his face for a long moment, and then she said "I can do that," with such regret and resolve that he let out a breath in relief, "but I will hate every second of it, so try not to use rule number two very often, yeah?"

The way she followed up a firm understanding of the danger he carried inside him with words of affection made that giddy feeling of joy, of having something he never thought he could have, fill him up again. "Deal." He said, and he leaned forward to kiss her. He tried to show her, tried to communicate how incredibly thankful he was for her in this moment.

When he finally pulled away, her eyes were closed and she was smiling, and her grip on his hands was almost crushing.

"Rule three," she said, "I never want to go another day without kissing you like that." And it was so perfect and sweet and utterly _Darcy _that the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Rule four," he said, "I am so in love with you."

Her eyes opened in surprise, but he couldn't stop now. He was all in, had been for months. And now that he had the chance, he was going to tell her every day.

"I have been for so long, Darcy. And I'm so sorry I've been such an idiot, and I still think that you deserve more than this,"

Her almost comical frown made him smile, and god he loved the way she made everything just a little bit brighter and a little bit easier, all the time. "Hey, I'm working on it." He teased lightly, but he was utterly serious when he said, "And I'm going to keep working on it, every day, as long as you'll have me."

And then she was kissing him again, and he found that even a serious conversation had not cooled his need for her, like a physical ache. It only took moments before he pulled her back against him, his fingers pressing into her skin. He needed her closer, more, all the time. His hand on her thigh slid lower, his heart stuttering at the way she lifted her leg easily to give him access. With his hand firmly on her ass, the other on her waist, he turned until she sat on the bench. He felt a hand working under the waist of his pants, her fingers splayed against his skin. Unbidden, it called up the memory of sitting at a lab bench like this, fantasizing about pressing her against it just like this.

And then, as he dragged his mouth away from hers to taste the skin if her neck, to hear the little gasping noises he knew she would make, it occurred to him that there was nothing stopping him from _telling _her things like that.

"You know," he began casually, but the idea of it was making him desperate to press himself into her, aching with need, "I have imagined this before," the thought of sharing a fantasy with a woman he loved made him feel giddy, like a teenager, and he smiled against her skin. "You right here, like this on a lab bench."

"Why Bruce Banner, are you talking dirty to me?" She sounded honestly surprised, as if it hadn't really occurred to her that he might have thought about this, thought about her. But then he caught a hint of mischief in her eyes, a playfulness that made his cock twitch and his mind immediately race with possibilities. It finally occurred to him that this thing between them wasn't just going to be _good _and _important_.

It was also going to be a hell of a lot of fun.

"I have layers," he said, remembering the time, so long ago, when she hadn't known him as well, and really was surprised when she found out he wasn't all science and meditation. He looked at her, no longer bothering to hide what he was thinking. He was sure by the way her eyes widened and a slow flush crept up her neck, that she knew _exactly_ where his mind was.

He couldn't help but grin, predatory and full of promise, as he trailed his fingers down the smooth skin of her leg. Touching, and memorizing, and planning.

"Hey Bruce?" her tone was light, and he was distracted, so all he managed was "Hmm?"

"I Rule four you too."


End file.
